


Your Body Above Mine

by Dont_touch_the_phlebotinum



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: 30 Day NSFW Challenge, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 22:02:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 65,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15300966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dont_touch_the_phlebotinum/pseuds/Dont_touch_the_phlebotinum
Summary: 30 day NSFW challenge. Each day will be marked with the pairing and setting individually.





	1. Cuddles [Damen/Laurent, Post-canon]

This was hardly the first time Laurent had landed them in trouble.

Damen pressed his body close against his horse's neck to pass under a low branch and frowned to himself as he straightened. Well, he thought, perhaps some share of the blame also fell to him this time. Laurent was certain to share that sentiment. If Damen could just find him.

In the height of summer, the woods were thick with undergrowth, the lush green brush reaching high enough to mask a man's presence. Laurent had been on horseback the last Damen had seen him, though there was no sign of man or beast now. Damen had been familiar with this forest in his youth, had explored and played amongst these same trees as a boy while his father conducted his business with the nearby Kyros and his bannermen, but those days were long enough past now that Damen's sense of direction couldn't be trusted. The forest was as foreign to him now as it was to Laurent, a stranger to these lands.

In hindsight, it was not the wisest place for a hunt. Certainly not the wisest place to abandon the rest of their party, more familiar with the landscape than they, to chase after Laurent and the doe he had set his sights on. Getting lost in the forest wouldn't aid him in securing the support of the merchant hosting them, an old friend of Damen's father, whose allegiance Damen hoped to secure for himself. The hunt had been his plan to do that, until Laurent had decided to disappear off on his own.

"Laurent," called Damen, mindless to the prey his voice would scare off. And again, when he was met with no response, until the scratching of his dry throat had him coughing instead. He eyed the canteen at his side longingly, though he knew better than to waste the last precious few drops before he and Laurent were well on their way back to the others.

He pressed on through the trees, eyes searching, listening for any sounds of movement beyond his own. He paused after a moment. There was still no snapping of twigs beneath foot, of the rustle of someone forcing their way through the brush, but Damen had heard something almost as good: running water. He dismounted and led his horse by the reins as he sought out the source of the noise. It was little more than a trickle, a narrow path of water dribbling over the rocks, but as Damen followed it downwards it widened into a stream.

He dropped to his knees and scooped up a handful of the cool water; took a long drink, filled his canteen, splashed it onto his face to wash away the sweat clinging to him in the stifling heat. He could only imagine how Laurent was coping in this. Not even the shade of the trees offered much shelter from the heat, and Laurent still struggled with the Akielon summer at the best of times.

Damen pushed himself back to rest on his knees and eyed the stream.

The water was not all he had found. Tethered loosely to a nearby tree, Laurent's horse stood lapping at the fresh water. Laurent was not with her.

"Laurent?" Damen shouted again. His only answer was the splashing of water. He climbed up again, tethering his own horse beside Laurent's before moving past on foot, following the stream until it disappeared over the edge of a low rock face. He stood atop the rocks, and peered down into a small spring, well hidden by the trees surrounding it. He had never discovered this place as a boy.

The water churned and splashed against the banks, disturbed by more than the cascade from the stream at Damen's feet. It was clear enough that from Damen's position above he could easily see what was causing the disturbance. He rolled his eyes.

Laurent emerged from beneath the surface then, his skin still lightly flushed from the heat, and, brushing his wet hair from his face, he turned to see Damen staring down at him. He grinned in response.

"Is this what you consider hunting?" said Damen. He eyed Laurent treading water in the spring, his riding leathers cast aside. "You might catch some fish, I suppose — though I dread to think what you're using as bait."

"Join me."

"What?"

"Join me. The water's cool." Laurent swam closer, until all that separated them was the few feet's drop into the spring, and gave an elegant shrug, as if he had not abandoned a hunt and disappeared without a word just to take a swim. "Or you could stay where you are. The view is quite nice from down here."

Damen shook his head in disbelief, but he did not close his legs, or take a step back out of Laurent's line of sight. He bit the inside of his cheek to suppress a smile of his own. The water did look so inviting…

"I'm not going to get out until you've joined me," said Laurent.

"I suppose you leave me no choice, then."

He stepped back, picking his way down the steep slope that led to the edge of the spring, following the trail of Laurent's discarded clothes and the sound of him in the water. They must have been far from the rest of the hunt by now; Damen had not heard even a horn blown, or the shouts of eager men, for some time.

At least they would have a little privacy.

Damen let his chiton fall to the ground at the water's edge, and Laurent moved to meet him there. He had slipped open the fastenings on Damen's sandals before Damen could bend to do so himself, and, like he was handling a piece of art finer than any in all of Akielos, he pulled Damen's foot free, then repeated the action with the other. Damen could only watch as Laurent smoothed his hands up Damen's calves. He felt as if the breath had been stolen from him. Laurent's lips were a shadow trailing after his fingers, catching the droplets of water his wet hands left on Damen's skin in their wake. And, as if there had been no trace of intimacy in his quiet gesture, Laurent moved back, giving Damen space to climb down into the water with him.

Laurent was right; the water was cool. It felt divine against Damen's bare skin. He sank under the surface until his feet touched the rocky bottom of the pool, letting the water sap the heat from his body. Around him, Laurent swam in lazy circles.

"What happened to your deer?" said Damen.

"It got away. I had your caterwauling to thank for that."

Damen smiled. "It was my fault, was it?" he said, and when Laurent floated past him again Damen reached out to catch his wrist and pull him close. Curling his arms around Laurent's torso, Damen pressed a kiss to the side of his neck. "Then consider this my apology."

Laurent was quiet for a moment, apparently content to let Damen continue brushing his lips across Laurent's skin while he considered whether or not to accept it. They drifted to the edge of the pool, where the rocks were large enough to take a seat, and Damen pulled Laurent down between his spread thighs and into his embrace. Laurent's skin was still warm on his.

"This is nice," said Damen. He was not so distant as to be unmoved by the feel of Laurent's naked body pressed back against him, or the way his fingertips traced lightly across Damen's skin.

"Aren't you glad I found this place?"

Damen hummed in response and buried his face in the crook of Laurent's neck. He tightened his hold around Laurent's chest as if he could hold him closer than he already was, and Laurent made a contented noise above him that seemed to have slipped out without permission. He lifted his head to look back at Laurent with a smile.

"You know," said Damen, "if you did not want to come hunting, you could have said so."

"I was enjoying the hunt."

"Until you sped off on your own?" He eyed Laurent closely.

Laurent knew the unspoken question in Damen's words without a glance in his direction. He gave a shrug, as best he could with Damen's arms wrapped around him. "I had thought to prove myself to the others," he said. If it was an admission of self-consciousness, there was no trace of it in Laurent's voice, as coolly confident as ever.

Damen grinned.

"Stop it," said Laurent, and when Damen didn't, then: "Of course, I have little hope of endearing myself to the men now that you've scared away our dinner."

"I'm sure they'll adore you anyway." Damen had been singing Laurent's praises to anyone who would listen since they had arrived. Besides, not even Akielons were immune to the draw of a new Veretian king, even if he was still months shy of his coronation.

Laurent rolled his eyes, but he sank back against Damen's body regardless, until the sound of rustling leaves grew loud enough to silence the birdsong from the trees above them, the snapping of twigs signalling an approaching presence. Damen's head shot up. It was too late for them to climb out of the water and back into their clothes before they would be spotted.

Nikandros came into view between the trees, his eyes on the pair's horses above the spring before it fell to them. He quickly averted his gaze, somehow managing to look dismayed and entirely not surprised all at once. There was little point in trying to convince him they had not slipped away deliberately for this very purpose.

"You missed the hunt," he said, still purposefully looking at anything else besides the two of them as they emerged from the water.

"How was it?" said Laurent, brightly, as unrepentant as one might have expected him to be.

Nikandros finally met Laurent's eyes to offer him a scathing look, before turning to lead the way back to the men.


	2. Kisses [Damen/Laurent, Canon-compliant]

Damen stirred at the sound of voices: hushed but urgent, coming from somewhere close by. He fought to open his eyes. There was bright sunlight pouring through the windows, taking on a hazy quality as it filtered through the gossamer draped around his bed, and in it, a figure stood in silhouette at the foot of the bed. Damen smiled, and the figure took a step closer upon noticing he had awakened.

"You're not dead then," said Laurent.

Damen's smile widened at the sound of his voice. Laurent had been gone too long, off shoring his own support while Damen had remained here in Akielos securing his position. These were not quite the circumstances Damen would have wished for Laurent's return, though he could hardly say he was displeased to find Laurent in his bedchamber once again.

"Not quite."

Laurent turned to the physicians he had been talking with. "Leave us," he said, and Damen watched as they each gave a slight bow and slipped to wait outside the doors, giving them some semblance of privacy. It was as much as they could hope for, most of the time.

"Were you worried for me?"

He must have been; Damen had only been injured days before, and for Laurent to have reached him so quickly he would have had to ride full-pelt from Marlas the moment the message had reached him.

Laurent scoffed. "A hundred men couldn't kill you," he said. He eyed Damen for a moment, something Damen couldn't quite decipher flickering across his face, before he rounded the bed and took a seat on the edge of the mattress, carefully, like he was afraid his weight on the bed beside him would cause Damen more pain. "How are you?"

"I'm well," replied Damen, and it was mostly true. It tasted foul, the medicine the physician forced him to drink every morning and evening, made him cough and gag and almost bring it back up again each time, but it took the pain away. Now he felt quite unattached from his body, and he was content to stay this way a while longer. "I've survived worse. Where's the horse?"

"You have more concern for the horse than for yourself?"

"I want to finish training her. She'll be a fine mount, once she's been broken in."

"Yes," said Laurent, the scathing tone Damen was too familiar with seeping back into his voice, "because it's a fine quality in a horse, a fondness for throwing people from its back. Perhaps we can gift it to one of our enemies and hope they break their spine before they decide to launch a rebellion against us."

Damen rolled his eyes, even as his smile stayed resolutely in place. He looked up at Laurent still gazing down at him. "It was my fault," he said. "I was overeager. I promise I'll not try to mount her again before I'm sure she's ready."

Of course, if Laurent decided to stay in Akielos a while, he could help break her in. It would probably take half the time, given his natural affinity with the creatures, and would prevent further injury to Damen's battered sides. And since Damen had intended the horse to take up place in Laurent's personal stables, it would give the pair time to form a bond before Laurent would be required to use her.

But that was a foolish dream, and Damen forced it from his mind.

"You are a madman." Laurent said it like he was confirming some privately held suspicion of his.

He turned to slip off his boots, and began unlacing his riding leathers. Damen watched him for a moment, enjoying the re-emergence of pale skin as Laurent shrugged out of his clothes and tossed them aside. He must have charged straight up to Damen's chambers the moment he'd arrived, Damen realised. Laurent poured himself a cup of water from the pitcher placed beside the bed and drank it down in one.

"I imagine it helps to be a little mad," Damen said, once Laurent had stretched himself out on the bed at Damen's side, "when spending so much time in your company. How long are you staying?"

"I can spare tonight. I'll ride back for Marlas at dawn."

One night. It was less than Damen had hoped for, yet still more than he should have expected. And more than he would have had, without his accident. Reluctantly, he nodded.

Laurent didn't notice the gesture. He was preoccupied with the bedcovers draped over Damen to hide the extent of his injuries from view. Laurent dragged them away, his expression changing as he laid eyes on Damen's side. Damen had not peered down to take a look himself yet, but he could imagine the dark bruising Laurent had found there.

"It looks worse than it is," he said, and reached over to take Laurent's hand in his before he could brush his fingertips across Damen's flank. Laurent accepted it without argument, shifting closer to rest gently beside Damen, his head on Damen's shoulder.

"I grow no fonder of seeing you in sickbeds," said Laurent.

"I grow no fonder of occupying them." He peered down at Laurent again, and, emboldened by the softness of Laurent's touch on his skin, let his private desires reach his tongue. "Perhaps you'll have to stay a while, to keep me out of trouble."

The corner of Laurent's mouth twitched. "I thought I was the one who got you into trouble," he said, his tone teasing as he echoed the words Damen had said to him on many occasions before this one. It wasn't an answer, though they both already knew the only answer Laurent could give. He stretched up to brush Damen's lips with his own. It was an apology, but one Damen readily accepted. One day soon, they would have this forever. Damen could wait until then.

He curled his arm around Laurent's back, holding him close, ignoring the hot throb of pain clawing its way through Damen's blissful haze of numbness at the weight of Laurent's body against his side. The pain was worth it, for this. He felt Laurent's tongue at the seam of his lips, and he opened his mouth to welcome it, to return Laurent's affections in kind. Damen had missed this, tasting Laurent, running fingers through his hair, feeling him pressed against Damen's body.

He had missed other things, too.

Damen leant in closer, moving to roll Laurent onto his back and offer him a proper greeting after the weeks they had spent apart, only to be met with a firm hand on his shoulder holding him back. Laurent pulled back to meet Damen's confused gaze.

"You are most certainly not well enough for that," he said.

Before Damen could object, or slide lower to satisfy himself and Laurent both in a different way, Laurent took pity on him. He pressed another deep kiss to Damen's lips, his thumb brushing Damen's cheek softly as he looked up at Damen again.

"Recover your strength quickly." He said it like an order. And Damen was hardly about to disobey. "Then the next time we see one another, you can prove how much you've missed me."


	3. First Time [Damen/Laurent. Canon-compliant]

Considering how close Damen had once come to killing Laurent, it was perhaps surprising how rarely the two of them now fought about the things that mattered. Now that Laurent had learnt to open up to Damen, he was quicker to talk, to share ideas and resolutions, than he was to attack. But his sharp tongue had by no means been blunted. No; these days he preferred to save it for the unimportant topics, the squabbles so petty Damen could scarcely remember what they had been arguing about once it was over.

That was how they had ended up where they were tonight — though given how quickly Laurent had abandoned the subject and the pair had descended into more satisfying activities, Damen suspected it had not been a real fight. He had often wondered if Laurent started arguments with him on purpose, the same way Damen would challenge Laurent to a match on the sawdust: a kind of verbal sparring to keep his wits sharp.

Or maybe he just liked the resolution to their disagreements as much as Damen did.

"You're smiling" said Laurent. He lay on his stomach beside Damen, their legs still tangled, and as Damen gazed over at him Laurent propped himself up on an elbow to study him more closely in the candlelight. Laurent's skin glistened in the flickering light, his body warm from exertion under Damen's hands.

"Should I not be?" He wasn't sure how he could do anything but smile with Laurent's naked body pressed against his, the memory of having Laurent sprawled out beneath him in the throes of pleasure still fresh in his mind.

He trailed his fingers up Laurent's spine, and upon reaching his shoulders pulled him down for a kiss. One soft brush of lips turned into another as they lay basking in the tranquil afterglow of their lovemaking. Damen lived for the moments like this, the quiet interludes they could snatch together before their positions and duties stole them away from one another again.

This time, however, the interruption came not from one of their men, nor a servant, nor a messenger returning with news, but from Laurent himself. He'd pulled back with the look of a man consumed by a sudden thought, and he studied Damen's face again as if he was unsure whether or not he should voice it.

"What is it?" said Damen.

"A curiosity, perhaps," Laurent replied, and his gaze meandered downwards to take in all of Damen, exposed to the warm air of their room and feeling suddenly self-conscious at the intensity of Laurent's stare. He met Damen's eyes again. "Have you ever been taken?"

"Taken?"

"The way you have me. When you've lain with other men in the past."

"Oh." He blamed the fog in his mind for not catching Laurent's meaning. That, and the fact that he was still unused to Laurent referring to their lovemaking without the crude terms he had once favoured. "No," he said. "I haven't."

Laurent gave a nod, filing that information away in his mind somewhere. He sucked on the inside of his lip, and was quiet for a moment. "You've never have the desire to?"

"Not with the any of the men I've bedded before."

"I think sometimes," said Laurent, tracing invisible patterns across Damen's chest in a show of nonchalance that wasn't quite believable, "about what it would be like, were our positions reversed. To know you so intimately." His fingers had danced their way to Damen's nipple while he had been speaking, and he circled it, slow and deliberate. His eyes flicked back up to meet Damen's as Damen struggled to maintain his breathing.

He could guess where this was going. And he couldn't deny the thrill that surged through him at the idea.

"Do you want to?"

"Yes."

A grin split Laurent's lips in response, but he quickly wrestled it back into submission. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," said Damen. Already his heart was beating faster. "I want to feel what you feel."

What little distance there was left between them disappeared in another stolen kiss. It was deeper this time. They were kissing with purpose now, Laurent's body atop Damen's, hips moving together as they tasted each other. It was eager but unrushed, the thrill of what was to come building with a steady inevitability until Damen couldn't wait for it a moment longer.

He pulled back to see the heat that burned inside him reflected in Laurent's eyes. The thought that he wanted this, as truly and as deeply as Damen did, when not so long ago he had not allowed himself to want anything, was intoxicating. They stared at one another for a long moment, a conversation taking place in their gaze alone. There were no words necessary for Laurent to know it was time.

He slipped away to the other side of the bed, and, taking a steadying breath to ease the bundle of nerves that had come upon him with the reality of what was about to happen, Damen settled on his stomach. He spread his thighs to grant Laurent access to his body in a way he had for no-one else.

It took him a moment to realise his mistake. Laurent had returned with the oil Damen had tossed aside during their initial bout of lovemaking and frozen in place. It was not, as Damen had for a moment suspected, to prepare himself for a new first of his own. Damen glanced over his shoulder to see Laurent's gaze on his back. On his scars.

It was not a new sight to Laurent, of course, but Damen could understand his hesitation. There was something different about seeing it like this, staring down at it while they lay together; an unpleasant reminder of the past when all that mattered to them here was the present. But before Damen could roll over again so they could lie face to face, Laurent was placing his hand between Damen's shoulder blades. It was a touch so soft Damen could have imagined it: nervous fingers trailing slowly down the rough skin of his back, the air sapped from the room around them, neither of them making a sound.

Damen broke the silence with a gasp. Laurent's fingertips had finished their journey down Damen's spine and continued lower, slipping between his cheeks to ghost over his hole. It was perhaps the only place by now that Damen had never felt Laurent's touch. Laurent did it again, circling Damen's entrance with the very tips of his fingers until eventually they disappeared, and Damen was granted the opportunity to take a breath.

When Laurent's fingers returned a moment later, they were wet with oil. Damen grasped tight handfuls of the bedcovers beneath him and braced himself. Still, he was powerless to hold back the sound that escaped him when the first finger pushed inside.

He had experienced this only once before, in the baths at Arles before he had faced Govart in the ring, and based on that experience he had never been keen to relive it. But this was not like that day. Instead of a rough, perfunctory touch forcing its way into him, Laurent moved slowly, his free hand on Damen's hip to soothe him through the intrusion until he had relaxed around Laurent's finger, and he was in no hurry to insert another. It would ease Damen in gently, before it was time to take Laurent's cock. He hoped.

They soon settled into a rhythm. Laurent worked Damen open not with the fumbling hands of the inexperienced, but in the same meticulous way he approached most things: after a great deal of close study. He curled his fingers to brush against Damen's inner walls as Damen had so often done to him, and Damen cursed, pushing his hips back to meet Laurent's fingers while he heard Laurent let out a breath of quiet, satisfied laughter behind him. Damen's cock, long since gone flaccid from lack of attention, began to stir.

Laurent seemed to notice the shift in him, too, for his fingers slid from Damen's body. This was it. Damen took a breath, while Laurent settled himself between Damen's thighs. He felt the warm, wet head of Laurent's cock touch his skin.

"Ready?"

"Yes."

He had thought Laurent had prepared him more than enough for this. As it turned out, Laurent's cock was considerably thicker than a few fingers.

Laurent moved slowly, each gentle push of his hips burying a little more of him inside, yet it was impossible to ignore the sharp sting of being stretched and filled so completely. Damen dropped his head. He was too focused on Laurent inside him to find the strength to hold it up any longer. He felt Laurent's hand on his flank, a soothing touch, and Damen reached his own hand back to cover it at the noise of surprised pleasure that slipped from Laurent. Their fingers curled together, and Damen pulled Laurent's hand closer towards himself until Laurent was forced to follow, his chest pressing against Damen's back.

"Are you all right?" Laurent said into the skin of Damen's shoulder.

"Yes."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You aren't."

When Laurent's hips were flush against Damen's own and he was embedded as deep inside as perhaps either of them could bear, Laurent paused for Damen to acclimatise himself.

"How is it?" said Damen. He twisted to look back at Laurent. He was glowing with sweat again; a pink flush on his cheeks, his lips parted and eyes dark. From the look of him, it seemed Damen wasn't the only one who could use a moment to adjust to the new sensation.

"It's—" Laurent closed his eyes. Licked his lips. Swallowed. "—fine, I suppose."

Damen laughed, and leant back to press a kiss to Laurent's lips. "Well, you'd best get it over with, then."

And so, a little tentatively, Laurent pulled back and thrust into him. It forced a moan from both of them. The next thrust had him gaining confidence in his movements, and the next, until Damen's body was reacting the only way it could, fire growing in his belly, heating his blood, as he pushed back into Laurent's hips. Damen had not been nearly this adept his own first time.

"You've been paying attention," he said, and dropped his head to the side so he could eye Laurent behind him.

"I'm always paying attention."

It was far from a surprise to hear that, yet the words did bring a brief flicker of disappointment. Damen had hoped, naïvely, it seemed, that he was able to push Laurent past the capability of his endless calculating when they lay together. If Laurent had been coherent enough to study Damen's technique so closely whenever they made love, Damen clearly wasn't doing enough. He would have to renew his efforts in future.

Damen's heart raced. It pounded so hard he feared it might spring free of his chest as he and Laurent moved against one another. The steady rhythm Laurent had established was quickly spiralling from control, turning into something desperate, something animal. Their need for each other's touch took over as if they had been without this for weeks, not minutes, as it did so often when they made love. Damen knew that it wouldn't last, that eventually the flames between them would dim into something calm, their desire muted, and in its own way that did hold some appeal. But despite the part of Damen that looked forward to the steady flicker of their love, he hoped never to lose the blaze.

He felt Laurent's lips on his shoulder, on the side of his neck, his trembling breaths mingling with Damen's own, and Damen closed his eyes. Every part of him was alive with sensation, too much to take in all at once. He needed more, and less, perhaps, wanted it faster and slower and to feel Laurent's body pressed fully against him at the same time as fearing the added stimulation of another touch from him.

"Laurent," he gasped, the word sounding wrecked and desperate even through his fractious grasp on conscious thought. "Laurent, I—"

"Yes." And in that one word Laurent echoed everything Damen felt but couldn't find the words for, his own voice strangled with it. His hand slid from its tight hold on Damen's hip to reach for his cock, pumping it in fast, smooth strokes that had Damen crying out as his release built until it threatened to burst.

Laurent was as close as he was, Damen knew. He could tell in the change to his breathing, the tension Damen could feel in him where their bodies touched, the way he was trying desperately to keep control of himself. Slowly, his inhibitions were lowering, but Damen had not yet managed to tempt them away completely. Some time soon, he hoped, Laurent would lose himself to the sensations as wholly as Damen did.

With a gasp, Laurent stuttered to a stop, still buried deep inside Damen. The sweet sounds of his climax were in Damen's ears when he lost his own battle against his body's urges. Laurent's hand remained on Damen's cock all the way through it, and then he was gone completely, leaving Damen with a strange kind of emptiness that he didn't feel ready for. He longed to reach across the distance between them and pull Laurent towards him, wrap his arms tight around Laurent's narrow chest to regain some small measure of the closeness they had just shared, but Damen knew better. Laurent would sidle back into Damen's arms once he was ready.

After a quiet moment to come back to himself, Laurent shifted closer on the mattress. He closed his eyes, a slight, exhausted smile on his lips, and rested his head on Damen's chest.

"Was that—"

"Yes," said Damen, without waiting for the end of Laurent's question.

Laurent laughed against him. His fingers resumed the same trails across Damen's skin they had travelled before, as Damen curled his arms around Laurent and held him close. "We should do this again some time," he said after a moment, and Damen grinned.


	4. Skype Sex [Ancel/Berenger, Modern AU]

Ancel had been stood in front of the bedroom mirror for the last thirty minutes. There was an art to this that couldn't be rushed, even if he was the only one who would truly appreciate the effort he was putting in. He popped open another button on his shirt, nudged the soft fabric farther down his shoulder, and stepped back to study his reflection once again.

Too much.

An inch higher, and the look seemed effortless, like the shirt could have slipped down his skin without his notice. And a careful movement of his arm could cause it to fall farther when the moment called for it. Ancel grinned, ran his tongue over his teeth for a smooth, easy smile, and rubbed at his lips with the pad of his thumb to give them that perfect, just-kissed hint of redness.

His laptop pinged with an incoming call just as Ancel was giving his tousled hair a final once-over. He didn't bother to check his watch. He knew the call would be on time to the minute.

His stomach fluttered in anticipation, though he was too used to the sensation now to try and fight it, to pretend he wasn't as embarrassingly love-struck as the naïve young pets he used to scoff at during his days in Arles. Careful not to ruin his look of well-fucked perfection, he positioned himself on the bed and answered the call.

"You were supposed to be home by now," he said, before Berenger could even open his mouth to greet him.

"I miss you, too," replied Berenger with a smile.

And of course, he hadn't put a fraction of the effort into his appearance as Ancel had. His hair was freshly brushed — even if he was still wearing it in the same style he had every day since Ancel had met him — and he was clean shaven, though he was clearly wearing the same drab suit he'd had on all day. To Berenger, there was no difference between dressing up for work and dressing up for a date, and no matter how many times Ancel had tried to show him the error of his ways, he continued to be as fashion-averse as ever. He was a lost cause, Ancel suspected.

"How much longer is the king going to keep you?"

"A fledgling rule is always a delicate time, Ancel," Berenger said. "I thought you'd be glad that we're earning favour with Laurent."

Ancel shrugged. "He should be concerned about holding on to my good favour, keeping you at the palace on your birthday."

"I don't mind working on my birthday."

"I know _you_ don't mind," said Ancel. There was perhaps a little too much sullen disdain in his demeanour, but Berenger was probably used to that by now. Besides, Berenger liked it when Ancel pouted. He licked his lips, and gazed back up at the screen through his eyelashes. "I suppose now I'll have to unwrap your present for you."

"My present?"

Ancel shifted, the movement smooth from practice, and his shirt slipped down his arm, exposing his chest to the nipple. He let his hair tumble over his shoulder to stand out against his pale skin, and with one hand, he slid open another shirt button.

"Ancel," breathed Berenger. His eyes were roving over Ancel's body now, finally, taking in the picture Ancel had painstakingly created for him.

"Are you still glad to be in Arles?"

"Less so, now."

"Good," replied Ancel, still working open his shirt. He let it fall open, draped halfway down his arm, as he watched Berenger's gaze follow his hand sliding down his stomach. "It really isn't as fun when you aren't here to join in."

"It looks like you're still managing to enjoy yourself."

Ancel grinned. He dragged the zip of his trousers down, slow enough to make sure Berenger's eyes were on nothing else, and Berenger's breath caught audibly at the realisation that Ancel wasn't wearing anything underneath. This was almost too easy.

"Tell me what you want me to do," said Ancel. It was a dangerous move; with Berenger there was always a chance he'd tell Ancel to cover himself back up and talk about his day instead. Hopefully the sight of Ancel's cock as he pulled it free, hard and ready, would be proof enough of what Ancel needed.

"Stroke yourself."

Well, it was better than nothing, he supposed. Still, Ancel had hoped for something a little more adventurous.

"Is that it?" he said, even as he obliged, curling his hand around himself and dragging it in soft, slow strokes, the same way Berenger always loved to touch him. He was well acquainted with his own hand, of course, but still it felt like there was something missing, a strange kind of electricity that surged within him when Berenger was the one to touch him, no matter how gently he insisted on doing so.

"For now."

"When are you coming home?" said Ancel.

"Soon, I hope. But I might be able to spare a few hours tomorrow afternoon; I could drive back to see you for a while. We could have a picnic in the gardens."

Ancel didn't bother to hide the disdain on his face as he looked back up at the screen. "A picnic?"

"Among other things."

"That's better."

He closed his eyes for a moment, working his hand faster on himself, letting his breathing roughen and the first whimpers fall from his lips. Berenger had always been able to tell when Ancel's moans were fake, would pull back until he stopped and say something boring like, 'if you moan at everything, I won't know what you really like,' that still managed to be strangely affecting, to Ancel's frustration. But that was not to mean he didn't enjoy hearing the real ones. Through the speakers Ancel could hear Berenger's own breathing start to change.

He wasn't nearly as far gone as Ancel would have liked, though.

"Are you going to catch up?" Ancel said when he looked back over at the image of Berenger on the screen, still fully dressed. He hadn't even loosened his tie.

Berenger looked down at himself, as if he had been so wrapped up in Ancel that he had forgotten about himself entirely. "Oh," he said, and began undressing in the most horrifyingly workmanlike style Ancel had ever witnessed.

"The subtle art of the striptease is completely lost on you, isn't it?" said Ancel, though he was less irritated by that than the swell of fondness brimming in his chest that he just couldn't shift. "You're about as sensual as the frigid prince." He corrected himself. "King."

"Well," Berenger began, a teasing smile on his face, "since he and I have both managed to land ourselves a beautiful man who seems to care about us above all others, we must be doing something right."

"You think King Damianos is beautiful?"

"I think you're beautiful."

A soft smile fought its way to Ancel's lips, and immediately he swallowed it back down. "Damn right," he said, and eyed Berenger again as his hand returned to its rhythm. "Keep the tie on."

With a warm laugh that Ancel couldn't be sure was at his expense or not, Berenger shrugged out of his shirt. There couldn't be many others who had seen him like this, who knew that beneath all those stuffy suits was a sportsman's physique, and the privilege of the sight wasn't lost on Ancel. The look was ruined, however, by the drab, brown tie dangling limp against his toned torso.

"No, that looks ridiculous; take it off."

"Thank you," said Berenger, and dragged the tie over his head, mussing his hair slightly in the process, which brought a fresh stab of desire to Ancel's gut.

"And the rest."

Once he had tossed the rest of his clothes aside — Ancel had half expected him to stop and fold them first — Berenger sat back in his chair, and spread his legs for Ancel's approval. He was fully hard. Ancel swallowed at the sight, and tightened his grip on himself. Perhaps he needed this more than he'd anticipated.

"Is this the most scandalous thing you've ever done?" he said. He was rolling his hips up to meet his fist now, the head of his cock wet when he slid his fingers over it, and with rapt attention he watched Berenger echo his movements. The sight of his tender, tight-laced Berenger working his own cock did more to heat Ancel's blood than anything he could have done to himself.

"Should I be worried by how much delight you take in the idea of corrupting me?" Berenger said, then: "You're still wearing clothes."

"You aren't here to get me out of them." His free hand Ancel slipped across his chest to tease at one of his nipples, feeling his own racing heartbeat beneath his palm. A moan punched from his chest, and echoed back to him from Berenger. "Promise me you'll come back for a while tomorrow."

"I promise."

"I want you to fuck me, Berenger."

Berenger groaned again, and Ancel had to bite his lip to keep from doing the same. The picture was already blossoming to life in his mind, of Berenger walking through the door and Ancel being ready for him, letting Berenger pin him back against the wall and making Ancel his. To think they had almost lost out on this, so reluctant to give one another a chance…

"Berenger," Ancel gasped. If there was supposed to be an end to that sentence, he hadn't thought of it yet. He settled for repeating it, turning the word into a caress, a plea, while he pumped his cock in time to Berenger's movements as if they could pretend they were feeling each other's hands on their bodies.

It wasn't long before Ancel was arching off the bed, muscles spasming as he emptied himself to the sound of Berenger's unrestrained moans of pleasure. Luckily he had done this enough times to not lose himself to the moment completely, as much as part of him, nurtured and encouraged by Berenger in the time they had been together, longed to do so. But this was Berenger's day, not Ancel's, and Ancel was still putting on a show.

He shifted his hips to ensure his release splattered across himself, his hand on his cock until it began to soften in his fist. Between his pale skin and the terrible resolution of Berenger's ancient laptop that he continued to insist didn't need replacing, the effect would probably lose most of its impact, but hopefully Berenger would still catch the gist of it when Ancel dragged his fingers through the mess on his stomach and brought them slowly, enticingly, towards his lips.

"Ancel," said Berenger, with the beautifully choked sound of a man coming undone that Ancel knew so well by now, as he reached his own climax.

This was Ancel's favourite version of him, so far from proper, and he allowed himself a moment to savour the sight before Berenger could bury him back under layers of tweed and self-restraint. He slumped back in his chair, chest rising and falling as he fought to catch his breath, and smiled wide at Ancel. Ancel couldn't help but reciprocate.

"This was nice," said Berenger.

"It was. I have to go."

"Ancel—"

Ancel didn't wait to hear the rest of his objection. He ended the call and sprang to his feet. If Berenger would be coming back tomorrow, Ancel needed to start making plans.


	5. Oral Sex [Damen/Laurent, Post-canon]

The sound of delicate music drifted down the long stretch of corridor, its notes carried on the light breeze filtering in through the grill work on the windows. Moonlight shining through them from the courtyard outside cast images of the intricate patterns on the opposite wall and, as Damen's gaze travelled to the set of double doors that opened farther down the hallway, onto the figure that emerged from them.

Damen smiled, despite himself, as Laurent strode towards him. He had always cut a striking figure in his Veretian clothing, and now, dressed in finery more befitting of his status than even the most expensive clothes he had donned in the court before, he looked more like a king than Damen had ever seen him.

"How do I look?" Laurent said once he had reached Damen. He held out his arms, offering himself for Damen's appraisal, but not his fine clothes or his rigid-backed posture could fully hide the tension in him. Damen doubted anyone else would ever notice it. He never would have noticed it himself, had he not grown all too used to Laurent's habit of hiding behind his high walls of detachment.

"Breathtaking," he replied, honestly, perhaps more honestly than he had meant to, though by now Laurent was well aware of Damen's feelings.

Laurent smiled back at him, and they stood for a moment in the relative quiet of the corridor, until the song that was playing came to an end and a ripple of applause sounded from the closed set of doors they stood beside.

Damen eyed the door warily. "I'm not sure this is a good idea."

The fledgling alliance between Vere and Akielos was not as strong as the one between its leaders. There were likely many in the court who still saw Damen as a slave, not a king, and Laurent himself had not yet come of age to take his own throne. Until his ascension, and perhaps after it, for a time, Laurent had no real power over these people, the members of his court too long under the Regent's thrall to offer Laurent the respect he deserved, or to welcome him as their new ruler. Laurent's presence here tonight would be a contentious issue; Damen's even more so.

"It's a terrible idea," agreed Laurent. His eyes flicked from the door back to meet Damen's wary gaze. "That's why I need you here."

Damen sighed. "Lead on, then."

And so, after a moment to steel himself, Laurent turned, his back straightening again, head held high, and pushed open the doors to the hall. As was the Veretian custom, first would be the reception, then the banquet and entertainments stretching on into the evening. The murmur of conversation stuttered to a halt as Laurent sauntered inside, then began again, lower and more surreptitious than before. There was no doubt what the various courtiers assembled were talking about now. A few of them braved the step forward to greet Laurent, their tones clipped, and Laurent returned their graces with similar coldness.

No-one had acknowledged Damen's presence yet. He was glad for that. The memories of his time in the Veretian court made him uncomfortable enough; he did not need the confirmation that the rest of the court remembered it as well. The king of Akielos, drugged and scrambling to keep Govart off him. His eyes fell to the display in the centre of the room, of two pets writhing against each other. Wrestling or fucking, Damen couldn't quite tell.

"Don't worry," Laurent's voice curled quietly in his ear. "I won't ask you to perform."

"I appreciate that."

Damen spotted Jord stood to attention against the wall, one hand rigid on the hilt of his sword and his eyes scanning the room for any stirrings of trouble. Once Laurent was occupied by the courtiers growing bold enough to approach, Damen slipped away to join him. "Captain," he said.

"Exalted. You seem uncomfortable."

Damen let out a huff of laughter. "How can you tell?"

"You aren't the only one." Jord slipped a small bottle from its hiding place beneath his breastplate and offered it to Damen. "I caught Lazar trying to sneak it in," he said, and then, with a sly smile: "It's better than the wine."

Damen took the bottle from him gratefully. He was not sure he'd trust to drink any cup of wine offered to him tonight even if he did have the taste for it. Laurent had been doing his best to weed out the most loyal of the Regent's men, but after six years, there were many still loyal to the Regent, many who saw Damen and Laurent as the usurpers. Attending events in the court was the way to overcome that bad feeling, he knew, yet it made him no more eager to surround himself with the very people who hated him the most.

He spent much of the night at the edge of the crowd, watching Laurent drift through it as if nothing came more naturally to him. It was an act, of course, but Damen was the only person in the room to notice it, the only one watching closely enough to see that Laurent's smiles never reached his eyes, or that there was purposeful calculation in the way he moved through the room greeting members of his court. He was managing to charm them, though. Gradually the smiles were spreading on the faces of those Laurent spoke with, the laughs that danced across the room now genuine. People had even begun to approach Damen with kind words instead of guarded hostility.

Damen had just seen Vannes off when he felt long fingers curl around his arm.

"Come with me." Laurent didn't give him a moment to respond before he was steering Damen towards the far end of the room. They slipped through a well hidden door, carved to match the panelling of the room, and found themselves in a small antechamber. The moment Laurent had closed the door behind them he seemed to deflate a little, his expression relaxing.

"Growing tired of playing the statesman?" Damen said.

"I much prefer our adventures in brothels and upon rooftops to the intrigue of the court." He stepped forward, his body just inches from Damen's. "Already I long for some real excitement."

"Perhaps we should find you a brothel."

Laurent's eyes flicked up to meet Damen's. There was mischief glittering within them. "I have a better idea."

His lips were on Damen's then, fingers sliding into Damen's hair to keep him from pulling back in surprise. And it was a surprise, though as Damen responded to Laurent's kiss with willing compliance, he realised it really shouldn't have been. Laurent always did like to create his own entertainment.

With his body pressed against Damen's, Laurent steered them backwards until Damen was pinned between him and the wall, and soon Laurent's hips were moving insistently against Damen's. Damen pushed into the touch as his body began to stir. His hands fell to Laurent's sides to hold him close, but before long the reality of what they were doing managed to creep back through Damen's growing arousal.

"Laurent," he managed to get out between kisses, "is that door locked?"

Laurent's only answer was another rough kiss.

Damen forced eyes to the door. The Veretians' attitude towards sex was relaxed — too much so, if you asked Damen — he knew, just as he knew a handful of courtiers had already gleefully watched Damen in situations not far removed from this, and knew of the countless whispers on the nature of his and Laurent's relationship since long before they even had one. But this was something quite different. At any moment someone could open the door and intrude on this private moment between the two of them.

Regardless of Damen's concerns, though, his body was certainly eager. He was hard under his chiton, every roll of Laurent's hips against him sending a fresh wave of arousal though him, and he closed his eyes to savour it for just a brief moment.

He should have known he wouldn't have the strength to pull away. Laurent's mouth was on his neck, his hands sliding over Damen's bare arms until they reached his shoulders and, with a tug, Laurent pulled free the pin that held Damen's chiton in place.

"Laurent," Damen said, his last pitiful act of resistance, even as he did nothing to stop Laurent untying the string at his waist and letting the fabric fall to the floor.

If anybody walked in now...

Eyes cast to the carved ceiling, he let out a shaking breath of surrender. "It will take far longer to get you undressed," Damen lamented. As fine as Laurent looked in his Veretian dress, Damen did resent it in moments like this.

"You don't need to."

Damen looked back down at him with a frown. It was then that he understood Laurent's meaning. He was leaning in, a soft brush of his lips to Damen's chest, then another kiss, open-mouthed and wet, lower on his stomach. He slipped downwards, lips and the grazing of fingertips marking his journey, and stopped. The muscles of Damen's stomach clenched.

The sight of Laurent on his knees was still a rare one, and one Damen cherished beyond all others. He hovered at Damen's waiting cock, his fingers sliding up Damen's thighs insufferably slowly, the curl of his warm breath tickling Damen's skin. When his eyes flicked back up to meet Damen's, the air abandoned his lungs.

Still staring up at him, Laurent leant forward and dragged his tongue in one long stripe from the base of Damen's cock to the tip. It was all Damen could do to keep his legs from buckling. He didn't dare take his eyes off Laurent's as he repeated the motion, this time pausing a moment to lavish the head of his cock with attention, pressing the tip of his tongue into the slit and drawing a moan from Damen's lips. Where Laurent had at first been detached, almost clinical in his approach, it had since become a more personal offering, Laurent learning Damen's body and its sensitivities the way no-one before ever had.

Laurent hummed with his own apparent pleasure. He was midway through sinking down onto Damen's cock when he did so, and the vibrations of it raced straight through Damen and added to the growing tension deep inside him. He dropped his head back against the wall, letting Laurent pin his wrists to the cool wood lest he give in to his urge to grip the back of Laurent's head and thrust into his mouth. His hands balled into fists beneath Laurent's hold, his toes curling, his body aching to move. He'd never done well at being a passive recipient of pleasure.

His body coiled and tightened under Laurent's ministrations. It would be soon now. As much as part of him wished to draw this out, to simply enjoy the flick of Laurent's warm tongue, the pressure of his mouth wrapped around him, Damen did nothing to stave off his climax. He was still faintly aware that any moment longer this went on was another moment somebody could discover them, though it was a secondary concern to his need for release.

It came upon him quite suddenly — one moment he was hovering blissfully on the precipice, before one last nudge of Laurent's tongue to the sensitive spot just underneath the head of his cock had him tumbling over it. He tensed, and let Laurent's name slip from him in a moan, wishing desperately to be able to slide his fingers through Laurent's hair as Laurent swallowed down the evidence of his climax. His body was still wracked by the after effects of it when Laurent released his hold on Damen's wrists and climbed to his feet, and Damen stood panting for a moment, watching as Laurent composed himself.

"Exciting enough for you?" Damen said.

Laurent looked back at him with a grin. He stepped forward to offer Damen one last deep kiss, the taste of him still on Laurent's tongue, before his touch was gone again and he was returning to the door. He paused, one hand curling around the handle, and looked back at Damen, still sweat-soaked and naked in the small room.

"You might want to take a moment before you rejoin the festivities," he said, with the kind of smug satisfaction that always used to inspire fantasies of throttling the life out of him but could now rouse little more than exasperation in Damen, and he swept back out into the hall.


	6. Masturbation [Damen/Laurent, Canon-compliant]

Even in the encroaching dusk, the sounds of mirth and celebration continued throughout the camp, and would well into the night. The day's tournament had had the desired effect of building bridges between the Veretian and Akielon forces; even Laurent, a pariah to the Akielons that afternoon, had spent the hours since his performance in the okton greeted as old friend by the very men who had not long ago stood eyeing him with hands on swords, waiting for any excuse to strike.

It wasn't their attention he sought to escape now. Laurent paid them little mind, his thoughts too tumultuous to even recognise the tactical advantage this burgeoning mutual respect between the men held. He couldn't seem to focus on any one subject long enough for the thought to take root, couldn't seem to sit still. At the first opportunity he slipped away, mercifully before Damen — Damianos, he reminded himself; Damen was a man who had never truly existed — lost hold of the good sense that had been keeping him at a distance from Laurent throughout the evening.

Laurent forced his eyes away from the tent where Damianos still sat sharing drink and laughter with his men, forced his thoughts away, and stalked back through the rows of tents towards his own.

He wrenched the folds of its opening back and paused to drink in the solitude. It was the noise, he told himself, and the growing rowdiness of the men that was keeping him from thinking clearly. He was not one prone to fits of restlessness.

At a soft noise from outside the tent Laurent spun on his heel, expecting Damen to have stepped into the tent to spend the evening discussing strategy. He shook his head when the reality of things caught up with him, and did his best to ignore the flicker of disappointment in his chest.

Having his brother's killer so close every night had made him sick. So why did Laurent find himself almost missing it now?

Damen would still be out enjoying the celebrations, or perhaps had even taken Pallas for another, more private bout than their first round this afternoon. Something stirred in Laurent at the thought, something long ignored, and he squeezed his eyes shut as if he could close them to the scenes playing out in his mind: Damen's lips on Pallas' skin, his hands travelling the same paths they had over Laurent's own body.

Laurent should have slipped in there first, offered Pallas his congratulations and his wine, and spent the evening whispering in his ear before making a show of bringing him to his tent. Pallas was certainly attractive; no one would have any reasons to doubt Laurent's intentions. Except Damen. Damen, who knew Laurent's desires and lack thereof in equal measure. Damen, who knew his thoughts. Laurent had spent his life cultivating an aura of mystery around himself, so much conflicting information surrounding him that no one could determine the truth from the fiction, yet by his own stupidity the one man he would most want to keep at bay was the one who knew Laurent's very heart.

He opened his eyes. Not even his servants had known he was ducking away, his tent unprepared for his return. It was little bother to him. He stepped forward to light the oil burners on either side of his bed, and sat down upon it with the weight of a man twice his size.

But even in the silence of his tent, he felt no more relaxed. He unlaced his clothes and flopped backwards onto the mattress. There was too much to think of to sleep yet, but with Laurent's mind on every subject and none, perhaps it was better to give in for the night and wake with a fresh mind in the morning. He closed his eyes and drummed his fingers on his stomach as he waited for sleep to take him.

It was smart to have Laurent join the okton. New to the sport as he was, he was still a skilled enough rider to give a strong performance and secure the Akielons' respect. Damen always proved to have a more capable mind than Laurent suspected. Damianos, he told himself again.

Laurent had a mind for cunning, had taken to the art well years ago and never looked back, but physical pursuits had always been a challenge. He had pushed his body to the limit just to be half as good as Auguste had been, and pushed it further. It came more easily to him now, yet he was still keenly aware that he was not truly built for this. Damen had a mind almost as sharp as Laurent's, even if he was too trusting for the twists and turns of the Veretian court, and a body built for a strength Laurent could never hope to match.

He thought back to Damen on the field today. His performance in the okton had been effortless, as had his contest with Pallas. There was much to be studied in the way Damen moved, even in unarmed combat. Yet despite his best efforts to keep his thoughts on track, Laurent's mind was focused less on Damen's tactics than the ripple of strong muscles beneath his skin.

He sucked in a breath at the memory, his body rousing. Perhaps the cause of his restlessness had a more physical explanation.

It was a rare occurrence, Laurent's body overpowering his will, though it had been happening more often than he'd have liked. More disconcerting though, was that it was only since Ravenel that his body had begun to betray him, as if his night with Damen had awakened something in him he'd been trying to keep tamped down all these years. And try as he might, tossing and turning on the mattress and willing himself to just fall asleep, Laurent couldn't ignore it this time. Before Laurent was fully aware of himself, he was sliding a hand down his stomach to reach for himself.

There were other ways he could relieve this tension. Half his men wanted to fuck him, he knew, and the other half would probably say yes given the opportunity, if only for the bragging rights about sticking their cock into the frigid prince of Vere. But Laurent had no desire for any of them. He had no real desire to do this to himself, either, stroking his burgeoning hardness as he hadn't for years.

His inexperience was evident even to himself. His movements were clumsy and uncertain, and only added to his frustration. He wanted to curse at himself, for failing at something that should have been so simple; for needing it at all. With gritted teeth he dropped his head back among the pillows and forced himself to take a deep, grounding breath.

His own hand might have been inadequate, but it was not so long since he had felt another's on him.

The mere thought of it was obscene. To let his brother's killer fuck him at all was vile enough; to have wanted it, to still want it now, was worse. Yet his body ached at the thought.

These last months on the road it had been all too easy to separate the two in his mind. The man who had stood at his side, who had told Laurent exactly what he'd needed to hear, who had saved his life, and rolled his eyes at Laurent's schemes even as he'd delighted in the thrill of them, couldn't possibly be the ruthless barbarian brute who'd taken Auguste from him. Yet watching him now, there was no barbarian, but nor was there the companion Laurent had come to know. There stood only a king.

That fact alone should have been reason enough for Laurent not to do this, to imagine that strong body above his, to try and fool himself that the hand moving in slow, careful strokes on his cock was Damen's. The list of reasons not to was far longer than his justifications for his actions, but still he could not compel himself to stop. He dragged the pad of his thumb over the tip, as Damen had done at Ravenel, and a gasp tumbled from his lips.

Laurent would not have Damen like that again. But he could have this.

He let his hands travel over himself, calloused from the sword like Damen's yet too fine-boned to offer a real imitation, as his mind supplied the rest. Dark eyes framed by darker lashes gazing down into his own; a soft smile; hands reverent on his skin. His body began to heat as if he had Damen's warmth pressing down on him once again, and he moved his hips to meet the hand on him the way he hadn't that night but now wished so much to have done.

He would have done it all differently if he had known then how much he would ache for it afterwards.

Laurent had not been able to come that night, not at first, even as Damen's touch had set his body alight in ways he had never imagined he could feel. As if something had crumbled within him since, he had no such struggles tonight. With his hand moving faster on himself now, his body lost to his own control, Laurent seized as the pleasure gripped him, and he let the word fall from his lips, a soft moan that he had not allowed himself to say before.

" _Damen_."

The spell that had seemed to overcome him lifted then. Granting himself only the barest moment to savour the feeling of climax once his release had splattered his stomach, Laurent was on his feet and storming to the basin at the side of his tent. He forced his breathing steady, fighting past the vulnerable sensitivity of his body while he scrubbed himself clean with ruthless strokes.

He had no fear of someone intruding on him like this — and if they did, this was hardly worse than the depravities they imagined him engaging in, when he wasn't too frigid to do more than share a look with a man — yet still he sought to erase all trace of his moment of weakness as quickly as possible.

He tossed the soiled cloth into the basin and slipped back into bed. The tension that had been gripping him largely gone, he drifted easily into sleep, to be assaulted by dreams of a muscled expanse of olive skin stretching out above him once again.


	7. Doggy Style [Pallas/Lazar, Post-canon]

Lazar had always considered himself of hardy enough stock. You had to be, as a mercenary. You can't handle the extremes of the seasons, or the weeks without a decent meal when provisions begin to dwindle, or getting into a scrap with a man just as tired and hungry and nasty as you, then you end up dead. To have made it this far with nothing more than a few scars and a bounty of stories to tell, Lazar knew he was well able to handle anything life could throw at him.

Of course, that was before he had set foot in Akielos.

He'd coped well enough with the heat on the road south; even when so many of the others had had to take shelter under whatever shade they could find to escape the noonday sun, he had kept on working, regardless of the sweat on his back and the burn seeping into his already sun-darkened skin. He hadn't realised then that the worst of the Akielon summer was still to come.

The high sun scorched the tiled courtyards of the palace, the balconies that lined every room Lazar had seen, and the rest of Ios beyond. He had hoped he'd be given chance to explore a little — a small contingent of the Prince's forces had remained with him at the palace while Damen recuperated, though there was a heavy enough guard around the new Akielon king that the Prince had scant need for his own men — but the unforgiving temperatures had driven Lazar no farther than the palace baths. And even the walk back across the courtyards once his skin had started to resemble an old man's sac made him question whether the tiny respite from the heat was worth it.

Today, he planned to avoid the outside altogether. So far he'd wandered long, bare-walled galleries, got in plenty of servants' way, and gone snooping in every unlocked room he discovered, but he hadn't found anything scandalous or intriguing. There probably wasn't much inside a palace that could hold his interest.

He was a soldier at heart. He needed to be out on the field or practising drills, not cooped up inside.

But he pressed on anyway, descending the narrow set of marble steps he came across to a lower level of the palace, where finally he heard something promising. Male grunts and groans and various sounds of exertion were coming from an open door farther along the hall, and Lazar grinned as he prowled towards it. It was even better when he poked his head around the doorway: there were two of them, naked and glistening and pressed tight together as they rolled about on the sawdust floor.

It took him a moment to realise they were wrestling not rutting, but the flash of disappointment he'd felt quickly turned to relief when he recognised one of the figures. The amount of time he had spent admiring that naked form, he should have known it was him immediately.

Pallas broke free of the other man's grip and managed to gain the upper hand, pinning the man beneath him with a firm hold that put his muscled body on sumptuous display. Lazar's gaze roved all over him.

This was so much better than he'd expected.

Pallas' wrestling partner, who clearly didn't have a clue how lucky he was to be pressed against Pallas' naked body, yielded after a moment's useless grappling against Pallas' strong arms, and Pallas released him. It was only then that he noticed Lazar stood in the doorway.

"Don't stop on my account," said Lazar. "It looked like things were just getting good."

Pallas said something in Akielon to the other man, who nodded and gathered up his chiton from one of the benches that lined the sawdust, and he turned back to Lazar with a smile. "Hello," he said, in thickly accented Veretian.

"Hello."

Lazar had seen Pallas only twice in the last week, both times stood guard outside the king's chambers, looking almost as concerned about Damen's predicament as Laurent was. He was sure Pallas had been volunteering, so the fact that he had now left his post was a good sign. Either Damen was well enough that such a heavy guard was no longer necessary, or he was well enough to notice which soldiers had been stationed around him all this time and force Pallas to take some time off.

"It's cooler down here," Lazar said. He stepped farther into the room once the two of them were alone within it.

"We are inside the cliffs," explained Pallas. His Veretian was better than Lazar had expected (it was definitely better than his own fractured attempts at Akielon) though admittedly the two of them hadn't wasted much time on talking since they'd met. He wasn't keen to start now, either.

Lazar nodded, and gazed back down over Pallas' body, still naked and wet with oil. He wondered if he was slick everywhere. "So are you going to teach me?"

Pallas blinked in surprise — maybe his mind had gone to the same place as Lazar's — but he soon smiled and nodded. "Your clothes," he said.

Lazar shed them. He spread his hands for Pallas to get a good look, unabashed by his cock already rousing. "And now?"

"Oil."

Pallas stepped away from the sawdust, and Lazar's eyes fell, drinking in the sight of his plump, inviting backside as he walked away. He had to hand it to Akielons; they were on to something with this naked wrestling thing. Maybe this was why the pet displays back in Vere were always so popular — not that Lazar had ever been fortunate enough to see one. He'd rather watch real men grapple than pampered boys, at any rate.

"I hope you won't be too gentle with me," said Lazar when Pallas turned to rejoin him. He had a large clay pot in his hands, its contents shining in the light of the braziers. Pallas dipped a hand inside.

The oil was surprisingly cool when Pallas smeared it across Lazar's chest. He was meticulous, coating every inch of Lazar's torso with slow, confident brushes of his hands as Lazar spread his limbs, offering the rest of his body for the same treatment. There was one part of himself he was most keen to receive it, but, frustratingly, Pallas avoided it. Granted, in Akielos the cock probably didn't come into play during wrestling bouts, though where was the fun in that?

Maybe it was time to show Pallas how they did things in Vere.

He dipped his own hand into the oil, and once Pallas had straightened from coating Lazar's thighs as if there wasn't a burgeoning erection in front of his face as he did so, Lazar pulled their bodies flush against one another. Pallas gasped.

"You missed a spot," said Lazar, and his fingers pressed into Pallas' body.

He was as warm as the summer sun outside around Lazar's fingers, but this was one heat Lazar wasn't about to avoid. He caught Pallas' bottom lip between his teeth, let him push his hips into Lazar's hand as Lazar felt him rouse against his stomach, and once Pallas was panting against his lips he withdrew his fingers.

"Where do you want me?" he said, as if they weren't both hard and aching for a different kind of exercise.

Pallas swallowed and contained himself. "The floor," he said. He steered Lazar into the proper positioning on the sawdust. His erection pressed against Lazar's hips as he moved into position behind him, and it was all Lazar could do not to grind back against it. He was barely even listening as Pallas talked him through the basic rules as best he could, distracted by the weight of him against Lazar's skin. "Are you ready?"

"Oh, yes."

His grip on Lazar was stronger than he'd expected. He was pinned in a hold embarrassingly quickly, but Lazar had been in enough fights to know his way around, even if there were more rules to this than Lazar was used to. He broke free of one hold and rolled, managing to lock his legs around Pallas' waist before Pallas manoeuvred away, their rough breaths mingling in the still air as if they were already fucking.

It was more like foreplay than sport. How were the Akielons not just fucking each other constantly when this was how they chose to exercise? Lazar had never been wrapped so intimately around another person without having his cock inside them. He pushed his hips up towards Pallas', their cocks sliding against one another, desperate for a hand to wrap around them both, and Pallas' grasp faltered just enough for Lazar to break his hold. He had Pallas on his knees on the sawdust within seconds.

A wide grin split Lazar's face. "I think I like this sport."

"Now you pin me down," said Pallas.

Lazar hummed. His cock was throbbing against Pallas' cheeks, so close to where he wanted it. He closed a hand around the back of Pallas' neck and steered him down, forcing his knees between Pallas' to spread them wider. If anyone walked in on them now it would be clear they weren't wrestling, but Lazar had never been concerned about having an audience, and Pallas was voicing no objection.

"Like this?"

"No," said Pallas, but there was a smile on his sweet face when he looked back over his shoulder at Lazar.

"You know, in Vere the loser gets a good, hard fucking," said Lazar, and he draped himself over Pallas' firm body, brushing kisses along his skin. He rolled his hips against Pallas' backside for good measure. "Do you yield?"

Pallas' dark eyes met his, his breathing coming out in rough pants that Lazar was desperate to turn into moans. He licked his plump lips. "I yield."

Lazar grinned, triumphant, pressed a quick kiss to Pallas' cheek, and guided himself inside. Pallas gave the sweetest keen beneath him. He was too tight, not well enough prepared for this, but Lazar sank forward all the same. Pallas always seemed to enjoy the burn. The sick fuck.

Unless necessity dictated speed over care — which often it did, the way Lazar typically went about his pursuits — Lazar preferred to draw things out a little longer. He was quite happy to sink his fingers into a partner and watch them fuck themselves on him, and on the rare occasion that he was on the receiving end of such pleasures he knew with clarity that the patience paid off. But every time he and Pallas ended up here, it was Pallas who pulled away from Lazar's fingers, whose face shifted in ecstasy as Lazar pushed past his body's resistance to sink in deeper.

He pushed his hips back against Lazar's now, ready to move before Lazar had even made himself comfortable. It was impossible not to grin in response. It was a rare delight to find a partner even more enthusiastic in matters of fucking than Lazar was himself.

Lazar tightened his grip on the back of Pallas' neck and thrust forward. He met Pallas' movements halfway, straightening for better leverage as he clutched at Pallas' undulating hips and shifted the angle of his thrusts. Pallas let out a rough gasp in response, his fingers digging into the sawdust. Lazar had found what he'd been searching for, it seemed. He stayed in that position, curling his hips as Pallas pushed against him with increasing fervour, his own moans and curses at each tight clench of Pallas' body around him falling unchecked from his lips. They were both moving with military efficiency towards the point of no return.

"Lazar," groaned Pallas. He ground the word out, stretched and transformed into something that slipped inside Lazar and made him keen in response. It was enough to let Lazar know what Pallas wanted, what he needed.

Lazar's hand snaked beneath Pallas' hip to grasp at his cock, his own throbbing with his need, and he stroked until Pallas jerked and spilled onto the sawdust. His own release came soon after. He dropped back onto his heels, wiping the sweat from his face, as Pallas slumped forward with an exhausted sigh. Their mingled breathing replaced the sounds of their grunts and moans.

"That was not real wrestling," said Pallas, once he had taken a moment to catch his breath, as if that fact might not have been clear.

But, Lazar suspected, the real thing wouldn't be nearly as much fun as this.


	8. Clothed Getting Off [Damen/Laurent, Post-canon]

Damen made his way through the palace gardens with a forced slowness to his steps. He gazed up at the sprays of colourful flowers in the trees and bushes surrounding him, as he had so often, but this time he could not find it in himself to stop and appreciate the beauty of them.

The gardens here had been one of his mother's favourites, her inspiration when it came to designing the courtyards at their summer palace. Damen had hoped walking the petal-strewn paths would offer him the same serenity she had always found here. He had no memories of her, nothing of her to hold on to but the stories his father had told, but the comingling of fragrant blooms had always conjured an easy picture of her in his mind.

He could not summon it today. His mind was on a more immediate absence.

He had not seen Laurent in more than two months.

Damen had been charting Laurent's journey south in his head since he and his envoy had left Arles, with frequent letters from Laurent keeping him updated on their progress. If the last leg of their journey had gone smoothly, they would be due to arrive at the palace any day now. With each day that passed without the sight of starburst banners on the horizon, Damen's impatience grew. To know Laurent was drawing closer and not yet have him in his arms was a kind of torment Damen had never known, one that not even one of the most beautiful gardens in Akielos could soothe.

Technically, he was never in Akielos anymore — or always was. Yet the unification of Akielos and Vere was a slow process, and Damen couldn't help referring to the lands south of the now dissolved border as Akielos, as his home. He had little doubt that Laurent still thought the same of Vere. But their kingdoms had been joined once, and it was right that they should be again.

Soft footsteps approached, almost inaudible amongst the trill of birdsong, stirring Damen from his thoughts. Ready to dismiss the servant if they came with anything but news of Laurent's arrival, Damen turned. He stopped in his tracks before he could say a word.

"Still?"

There was amusement in Laurent's voice. He would be smiling, too, a triumphant look to hide the warmth lurking beneath it, though Damen's eyes had not yet found their way to Laurent's face. He was too busy drinking in the rest of him.

He was in Akielon dress, the hem of his chiton skimming his thighs, skin that was so often hidden behind shrouding layers of Veretian finery now exposed. Damen was no stranger to Laurent's bare form, but so often when he made its blissful acquaintance they were secluded in their chambers away from the harsh sunlight. The sight of Laurent stood in the gardens like this was enough to cement any man's feet to the ground and slacken his jaw. He looked like a statue come to life, expertly crafted from only the finest alabaster, the only colour on him the soft morning sunlight of his hair and the vivid gemstones of his eyes. They were twinkling with good humour as they stared back at Damen.

"Still," answered Damen, once he had found his words again.

Laurent's skin was like gossamer drifting in the sunlight as he moved closer, and the moment he was within reach Damen managed to snap himself out of admiring the view, and wound an arm around Laurent's back to pull Laurent against him. He could feel the heat on Laurent's skin. It was enough to rival the warmth collecting inside Damen's chest at the sight of him.

"I thought you had given up on Akielon clothing." As he said it, Damen traced a fingertip along Laurent's bare shoulder. His eyes could look nowhere else.

Laurent forced them away, however, with a long, pale finger extending upwards, towards the thick sea of clouds above. There was no threat of coming rain in them, yet they were dense enough to shroud much of the blue skies, the unforgiving summer sun lost somewhere above, and bring with them a cool breeze that swept through the gardens and the open archways of the palace. They would keep Laurent's delicate skin protected, for a time.

"I see you've thought of everything."

Laurent met the growing smile on Damen's face with one of his own. "I always do," he said, and lifted his chin in an invitation Damen gladly accepted.

It was a kiss not of old lovers and not of new, but something in between, comfort and desire at once. There was a softness to it, but also need, one that had not been met in the months they had been apart, and soon it was that need which took over. Damen's hand slid down Laurent's back, moving hungrily over his slight curves until he reached the hem of Laurent's chiton and found flesh.

Laurent pulled back then, a firm hand above Damen's pounding heart to keep him from reigniting their kiss as he so dearly longed to, and met Damen's eyes. "You remember I'm here with purpose," he said.

Damen sighed. For a moment, he hadn't. For a moment, the two of them had been together simply because they wanted to be. That was still a faraway dream, it seemed.

As if on cue, a cacophony of noise, the sound of men and horses grateful to be at the end of a long march, intruded on their reunion, signalling the arrival of the rest of Laurent's envoy. Laurent took a small step away. Damen's hand was still resting on his back as Jord entered the gardens. He was clad in the full uniform of the Prince's — now King's — Guard, his face red and sheened with sweat.

He looked at the two of them and averted his gaze, shifting awkwardly in place. There was no confusion as to what he had interrupted. "Shall we begin," he said, "or would you prefer to wait until... after?"

Damen was just opening his mouth to say that yes, any discussions to be had could wait until the morning, and that there were beds and meals waiting for the men, when Laurent slipped in first.

"I think now is as good a time as any," he said, and turned to meet Damen's incredulous gaze. "Lead on."

Grudgingly, Damen led them up to his apartment in the palace, shooting an envious look towards the bedchamber while they placed themselves around the map already spread out across the table and waited a few short moments for Nikandros to join them.

He paid little attention to their discussion. Every word they shared these days were ones they had before, and would again in the days to come, talking themselves in circles contemplating possible allies, possible enemies, and the best way to cement the unification of their two kingdoms.

Damen's eyes fell to Laurent stood beside him. Even out of direct sunlight, there was an ethereal quality to his skin, and Damen itched to run his hands over every inch of it. His heart beat faster again as he took in Laurent's tightly muscled limbs; the soft glistening of water on his lips when Laurent took a sip from his goblet; the way that, at certain angles, Laurent's chiton gaped a little at the front and offered a glimpse down towards the firm plane of his stomach.

It had been too long since Damen had felt it beneath his lips.

But this was not the time. Damen's fingers curled tightly around the back of the chair he was stood behind. He forced himself to follow the conversation, the forts and regions pointed out across the map. His kingdom was a higher priority than his own desires. Usually, Damen did not need to remind himself of that fact.

Despite his efforts, though, he still only succeeded in taking in brief snatches of the discussion unfolding around him, the words no more than a distracting hum in the background.

He lost hold of it entirely a moment later. Damen's gaze had been on the few visible inches of Laurent's thighs, mapping out a path for his mouth to follow when they were finally alone, when Laurent leant forward to point to something on the far side of the map. Damen sucked in a steadying breath as discreetly as he could and gripped the chair hard enough that the wood threatened to break beneath his palms.

All that covered Laurent's modesty was that one thin piece of fabric, so easily dislodged. Were Nikandros and Jord not still in the room, Damen would have taken Laurent there and then. No laces to untie, no layers upon layers to remove before he could feel the warm press of Laurent's body against his. All he would have to do was lift that short piece of fabric and slide inside. He stirred beneath his own skirts.

"Exalted?"

The word took a moment to register. Someone was addressing him.

Damen blinked away the thought of Laurent bent over the table underneath him and looked up to see Nikandros' eyes upon him, waiting to hear his thoughts. He could say with some confidence that Nikandros would not want to hear them.

"I think King Damianos would agree that responding to discontent with force will only result in open rebellion," said Laurent, before Damen could stammer out a response. "We knew this would not sit well with many, just as we know there are still those who resent either of us sitting on the throne. But as long as people's safety and flow of coin remain undisturbed, they will come to adjust."

Damen swallowed. "Yes," he said. "Our focus should be on outside forces: those who might see this as an opportunity to strike against us. We'll forge alliances where we can, and where we can't, ready ourselves for potential conflict."

"I still think it would be prudent to monitor brewing resentment in the courts," said Jord.

Nikandros nodded. "I agree."

"Then see to it. With discretion," Laurent added firmly.

Jord gave a halting half-bow, as if he was still unsure how to behave around Laurent now he had finally taken the throne. He and Nikandros excused themselves, and Laurent turned to Damen as Damen's heart thundered anew.

"That was impressive," Laurent said with a sly grin, "for a man who'd not been listening to a word."

"Stop talking," said Damen, and roughly he pulled Laurent towards him to resume their interrupted kiss.

Laurent responded with matching desperation that he had fared much better than Damen in concealing, and they clutched at each other, hands reacquainting themselves with skin too long absent. Damen's touch moved up the smooth bulk of Laurent's thigh and under his skirts to find him already beginning to stiffen.

"I've missed you." He breathed the words against Laurent's lips, before they were kissing again as if their lips had never parted. Laurent's legs slid easily around Damen's hips when Damen lifted him into his arms.

Like an ocean wave crashing against the rocks, the pair dropped onto the closest bench, its cushions tumbling to the floor with the force of their impact, and Damen surged forward to claim Laurent's mouth again. When he pulled back to catch his breath, Laurent was grinning up at him.

"I noticed," he said, as he ran a warm hand along Damen's cock, slow enough for Damen to feel a familiar tug deep below his navel. His toes curled inside his sandals at the touch. But despite the coolly detached tone, Laurent was not immune from the same heat that was growing inside Damen, his own hardness pressing against Damen's stomach.

Damen forced his gaze upwards to survey the room. On a low table nearby was a tray forgotten by servants in their rush to prepare the rooms for Laurent and his men, and upon it a small pot of oil. There was not much inside, but it would be enough.

With Laurent still rubbing his hips up against Damen's as if every moment without his touch was a lifetime, Damen snatched up the pot and prepared Laurent with all the fumbling grace of an anxious virgin. Laurent offered no complaint, however, only a gasp of relief when Damen entered him. It was a game he always played, keeping his desire buried beneath layers of feigned indifference as difficult to get through at times as his tightly laced clothing, but Damen had not grown so tired of it yet that he didn't thrill at the moment the cracks began to show.

He sat up, settling himself with one leg on either side of the bench, and pulled Laurent into his lap. The new position pushed him even deeper into the wet tightness of Laurent's body. He felt Laurent's nails dig into his shoulder, a sharp exhale of breath at his ear, and after a moment to adjust, Laurent was moving to make himself comfortable and begin the slow rock of his hips.

"You know," said Damen, conversationally, even as he pushed up to meet Laurent's movements, "towards the border — the old border — the weather is like this for much of the year. You'd not burn in a chiton."

Laurent let out a gentle susurrus of laughter. "Wouldn't you miss the challenge of getting me into bed?"

"I never liked the challenge." said Damen. Besides, knowing Laurent, he would soon devise a new, maddening game to test the limits of Damen's patience.

"No?" Laurent pulled back then, palms resting on Damen's knees for balance, to study Damen's face. His own eyes were dark with his arousal, his lips kissed into a dark shade of pink, and all the while his hips kept moving. How he managed to retain such a hold on his mental faculties while his body was overwhelmed with sensation, Damen had never understood. Damen himself was already struggling to think of much beyond the feel of Laurent around him, the steady building of tension inside him.

"No."

"But you realise that if I were to walk around barely clothed all the time—" he sucked in a breath and briefly closed his eyes against some new surge of pleasure within him "—you would no longer have the privilege of witnessing what few else get to?"

Damen met Laurent's eyes. "I already see more of you than everybody else does," he said. "It's enough."

Something in Laurent's expression shifted, though if he was comforted or dismayed by Damen's words, it was difficult to tell. Damen didn't wait for his response, whatever it might have been once Laurent had decided how to react.

With the hand not pressed against Laurent's back to steady him. Damen reached for Laurent's face, fingertips sliding along his cheek and into his hair. He pulled Laurent forward into another deep kiss, and Laurent moved against him with more intensity. His control was loosening now, limbs slack and pliant, moans and sighs falling freely to curl around Damen's ear.

Damen cried out when Laurent shifted back against him, the change of position drawing Damen's cock deeper still, the head of Laurent's own glistening where it poked from the hem of his chiton. The sight left Damen parched like he hadn't felt since the day he'd foolishly insisted on joining his father's guard in their training drills during the most punishing Akielon summer in decades, but rather than slake his thirst, he pressed his hand to the exposed half of Laurent's chest. His skin was damp with sweat, his heart thundering beneath his ribs hard enough for Damen to feel it. Hard enough to rival Damen's own.

He moved his hand just enough to reach the hard peak of a pale nipple, and he rubbed his thumb over it as Laurent dropped his head back, his body stretched out like an offering. The sound of Laurent's groan was a sacrament.

"Damen," he breathed, the word as sweet as any other noise that had tumbled from his lips. It was the only word necessary.

He dropped his hand to where their bodies were joined and curled it around Laurent's cock. Damen touched it like it was something precious, something to be handled with veneration by only those deemed worthy, and after only a few reverent strokes, Laurent's body was tensing, and he spilled across the pooled fabric of his chiton in his lap.

Damen had been so focused on Laurent's pleasure that his own had become little more than a gentle nudging at the back of his mind, but at the sudden, glorious tightening of Laurent's body around him it came crashing back to the forefront. He crested, lingering in that weightless, blissful moment with Laurent, until the feeling ebbed, replaced by the weight of Laurent sinking into his arms. The sound of their unsteady breaths was even louder than the pounding of blood in Damen's ears.

He rubbed a soothing hand up and down Laurent's spine, and in response Laurent let out a contented hum. It was the hum of one halfway to sleep, and Laurent offered no resistance when Damen gently laid him back among the few plush cushions that had survived their lovemaking. Laurent would not sleep for long; they could make their way to a real bed when he woke.

Fighting the heaviness in his own limbs, his body's desire to curl up beside Laurent and sleep, Damen pushed himself to his feet and crossed into the bedroom. He stripped off and rinsed himself clean from the small washbowl in the corner of the room, before helping himself to a clean roll of fabric and fastening a new chiton in place. With a grin, he pulled out another, and set it aside for Laurent.


	9. Against the Wall [Damen/Laurent, Modern AU]

"You're kidding."

Laurent shrugged off Auguste's incredulous stare and gazed back at the meandering queue of people behind him. He'd never quite understood how standing outside in the cold and wet just to get into a club was in any way worth it. It was masterful, he supposed, convincing people that being forced to stand around like cattle was a mark of exclusivity. If his career at his father's company didn't work out, Laurent would have to try his hand at club promotion instead.

"You live two minutes away, Laurent," Auguste went on, the same tone of gentle patronisation in his voice that he'd been using on Laurent at times like this for as long as Laurent could remember. "How have you never been here before?"

"I'm a creature of habit." He met Auguste's eyes again in time to watch him shake his head fondly and turn back to the slowly approaching entrance to the club with a laugh.

Laurent was well aware of the absurdity of his behaviour, preferring to take a cab ride halfway across town to his favourite pub instead of daring to set foot in any of the bars and clubs closer to home, though that didn't mean he had any intention of changing his ways. Perhaps this club was nicer, but it wouldn't have the familiar comforts that pulled Laurent back to his favourite haunts again and again.

"If anybody has the audacity to hit on me, I'm leaving," he said over Auguste's shoulder as they shuffled forward again. An elbow went into his shoulder blade, and Laurent huffed, ready to whirl around with a few choice insults on his tongue for the dolt crowding too close behind him as if that would help them get inside any faster. It was only Auguste looking back at him with a grin that stopped him.

"With that scowl on your face, I doubt anyone will dare approach you."

"In that case, I'll keep wearing it."

Finally they were granted the great privilege of entry, though it wasn't long before standing back out in the rain began to look like a more promising way to spend the evening. It was even more cramped inside than it had been in the suffocating confines of the queue, but he and Auguste fought their way through the sweaty, surging crowds of dancers to the bar, just in time for a voice to call Auguste's name over the deafening pulse of the music.

Auguste waved back to the woman squeezing through the crowds towards him, and leant close to Laurent's ear. "Why don't you order us each a drink?" he said. "I'll be right back." He turned and enveloped the woman in a friendly hug, and they were swallowed up by the sea of people moving to and from the bar. How Auguste could befriend so many people, Laurent didn't know. His own list of people he had any desire to socialise with mainly consisted of Auguste. And even he was on thin ice, after tonight.

Laurent huffed into a seat, and ordered himself the most complicated cocktail on the menu, which the waitress mixed with relative efficiency. That didn't mean it tasted any nicer, though. He'd barely had time to wince at his first sour sip when he noticed a figure slotting in against the bar next to him, too close for comfort. Laurent bristled, but he stayed gazing down at the counter, waiting for the man to order his drinks and get out of Laurent's face.

As the seconds wore on, however, it became disconcertingly apparent that he didn't have any intention of doing so. "Evening, sweetheart," he said into Laurent's ear.

Laurent ignored him. Apparently that was as good as looking up at the man with a winning smile, since he took Laurent's silence as an invitation to lean in closer. The stench of alcohol on the man's breath poisoned the air between them.

Laurent was going to kill his brother when this was over.

"What's your name?"

He turned, slowly, and glanced up at the man with a concerted effort to show his every ounce of disdain on his face. It was easy enough; somehow the thought that he'd already wasted an hour of his life and an extortionate amount of money to enter an overcrowded, ear-splittingly loud club, drink a watered down cocktail, and get harassed by a drunken creep manifested into a scowl with ease.

It made no difference.

"Come on," the creep said, and moved in even closer, forcing Laurent to choose between nestling under the musty armpit on his other side and letting the man invade his personal space completely, "why won't you tell me your name?"

There was no getting out of this politely, it seemed. Which was fine by Laurent.

He opened his mouth to deliver the most cutting insult he could think of.

He didn't have chance to deliver it.

"Hey," a sharp voice said from behind Laurent. Laurent half expected it to be Auguste wading in to save him, but when the man came into view, forcing the narrow gap between Laurent and his admirer to widen by inserting himself bodily into it, he was dark haired, dark skinned. "I don't think he's interested."

The creep looked Mr. Wannabe Knight in Shining Armour up and down, and sneered. It was impressive that he managed to, given the fact that this new arrival stood six inches taller than him at least, and, from the look of his tight shirt, was in far better shape. If Creep was foolish enough to throw a punch, Laurent knew where he'd place his bet on the outcome.

"What's it to you?" Creep said. He looked like he was about to square off, until finally the realisation wormed its way to his brain that he was up against a wall of solid muscle. He stared back at Laurent, as if he was deciding whether taking a beating was worth whatever miniscule chance he had of sleeping with him.

It wasn't, as it turned out. He held his hands up in surrender. "Forget it," he said, and slunk away to the far end of the long bar.

Better late than never, Laurent supposed. Now he just had to rid himself of this guy. He was turning back to Laurent with an earnest look of concern in his eyes. Laurent rolled his own.

"I was perfectly capable of handling that," he snapped, as the man opened his mouth to speak.

He closed it again sharply, and eyed Laurent like he couldn't quite believe Laurent's manners. It was hardly the first time Laurent had been met with that expression.

"You're welcome."

Laurent gave an unapologetic shrug in response. "What, did you think wading in to protect me would earn you brownie points?" he said, and, when some strange flicker of sympathy for the man took brief hold of his senses, added: "You know, you might want to consider coming up with a better play."

What could he say? Perhaps those deep brown eyes were working on him.

That was a worrying thought.

"I've never had any trouble with the direct approach." He glanced down the length of the bar to where Laurent's admirer had moved on to someone more receptive to his charms. Only when he was satisfied the creep wasn't going to come back did he look Laurent's way again. "Have a good night."

And with that, he turned and stepped back into the crowd, where he was immediately swept away out of sight, leaving Laurent frowning in his wake. This wasn't how these things usually went for him. He was more used to men tripping over themselves to get just a moment of his attention, and none of them succeeding.

He should have been glad it had been so easy. After all, he had wanted to be left alone, hadn't he? But now that the man had walked away without a fight, Laurent didn't quite know what to do with himself.

Before he could examine what exactly had just happened, he felt a hand clap his shoulder and Auguste rounded into view, beer bottle in hand — which was fortunate, since Laurent hadn't bothered to order him one — and an easy smile on his face. At least he was enjoying himself.

"Come on," he said, "I saw some tables along the wall."

Laurent followed Auguste to a table, where he tried resolutely to listen to the story Auguste was attempting to tell him, and when that didn't work, tried to at least feign interest. Even that was proving difficult, though. More than once Laurent's eyes found his unwanted saviour, laughing and joking with a small clutch of what Laurent found himself desperately hoping were just friends. Even across a darkened, crowded room, Laurent could tell he had a great smile.

Laurent forced his gaze away. It wasn't long before it was back on that corner of the room, just in time to see the man remove himself from the group and head into the men's room.

"I have to go to the bathroom," said Laurent, without bothering to wait for Auguste to finish his sentence first. He was up from his seat before Auguste could react.

The man was stood at the row of sinks when Laurent entered the room, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to tame the dishevelled curls. It didn't work, but nor did it matter. Even under the harsh fluorescent lighting the man was a picture, somehow even more striking than he had seemed on the dancefloor. If Laurent had not already committed himself to this plan of action, getting a good look at the man now would have done it.

"I'm impressed," Laurent said, forcing himself to speak before the man could notice Laurent staring. He turned back to look at Laurent in apparent surprise, which was some small victory, at least. "Playing the knight in shining armour then backing off to make me pursue you — it's clever."

He raised an eyebrow. "You're pursuing me?"

"I'm not happy about it."

The man laughed. "Sorry about that."

"Well?" said Laurent. He'd be damned if he was actually going to work for it. He had done his share just working up the nerve to step in here.

"Well?" The man repeated.

"This was the game, wasn't it? You've won. You got what you wanted."

"I don't like games," he said. And, God help him, Laurent was almost inclined to believe it. There was a level of sincerity in those big brown eyes that was hard to replicate. "But if you're interested, I wouldn't mind buying you a drink."

"You 'wouldn't mind'? Damn me with faint praise, why don't you?"

"You've been openly hostile every time I've spoken to you this evening," the man shot back, though still he seemed more amused than offended. "You're lucky I'm interested at all."

Laurent scoffed. "I'm sure I'd survive if you weren't."

"Well in that case..." The man moved to leave the room.

Damn him. And damn Laurent for being foolish enough to fall for this shit.

Before he could step past Laurent, Laurent caught him by the wrist and pulled him back to face him. They were stood close enough together now for Laurent to breathe in the scent of the man's cologne. It was intoxicating.

God, he hated himself for this.

"What's your name?" Laurent said.

"Damen." He leant closer as he said it, his lips almost brushing Laurent's.

Laurent could feel the warmth of his skin. If he tried hard enough, he felt as if he might be able to taste it. His mouth was dry. He licked his lips.

"Dare I ask yours?"

"Laurent."

"Nice to meet you, Laurent," said Damen, and as soon as the words had left him Laurent was threading his fingers into Damen's hair and bringing their lips together.

Damen kissed Laurent like there was nobody else he'd ever wanted to kiss. Like it actually meant something. It was a heady thing to be on the receiving end of, Laurent had to admit. He gripped Damen's arms, feeling the muscles beneath his palms, as impressive to the touch as they'd looked straining beneath his shirt sleeves, and let himself get lost in it.

"I suppose you kiss everyone like that," Laurent said, once he'd mustered the strength of will to withdraw from Damen's lips. His heart was racing.

The corner of Damen's lip stretched into a crooked, dimpled smile. It was an infuriating look. Laurent wasn't sure if he wanted to slap him or kiss him again for it.

"After I've finished manipulating them into wanting me," replied Damen.

Laurent narrowed his eyes, and folded his arms across his chest to try and mask its rapid rise and fall as he tried to catch his breath. It had been some time since he'd been half as affected by one kiss as he was now. He didn't want to think about what that might have meant. "Well, you had better hurry up and do it again before I lose interest," he said.

Damen's smile widened, and he stepped back into Laurent's personal space, snaking his arms around Laurent's waist and steering him back against the wall as they kissed again, deeper and more desperate even than the first. The tiles were cold against Laurent's back, forcing him to press himself closer into the burning heat of Damen's chest. His soft curls tangled around Laurent's fingers. They fell into an easy rhythm, as if they had been doing this for years already, knew every part of one another and how best to satisfy them, and when Damen pressed his hips against Laurent's, Laurent could feel just how much Damen was enjoying this.

He wasn't far behind himself.

Fuelled by an intense hunger he hadn't known himself capable of, Laurent reached between them to slide his hand over the impressive bulge in Damen's jeans, privately delighting in the desperate, choked gasp he pulled from Damen's lungs in response. Before Laurent could do it again, though, the pulsing drone of the music outside swelled and the door scraped against the tiles as it was pushed open.

He shoved Damen away — and he suspected it was only Damen's surprise at the intrusion that rendered Laurent able to break Damen's firm hold on his waist — and glanced back towards the door. The man stared from Laurent to Damen.

"For God's sake, Damen," he said, with the helpless air of one who had walked in on too many moments like this in his time, and turned to leave again. "Get a room."

Laurent turned back to Damen once the door had swung closed again. "It's not a bad suggestion."

Not ten minutes later, Laurent was shoved back against his apartment door, pushing Damen's shirt down over his broad shoulders as Damen mouthed wetly against Laurent's neck. "I should tell you," said Laurent, his voice rough already, "I don't usually do this."

Damen pulled back just enough to peer up at him, that insufferable smile dimpling his cheek again. "Do you want me to walk you through it?"

"I think I remember the steps."

He eyed the grocery bags he had left abandoned on the kitchen counter earlier this evening, and quickly pulled away to root through them. Auguste's impatience for Laurent to hurry up and leave the apartment had come in handy. Laurent was going to have to buy him a drink for tonight, he suspected, though he could already imagine just how much gloating Auguste would cram in upon learning that Laurent had not only had some small measure of enjoyment at the club, but had taken someone home with him as well.

"Here," said Laurent, and he tossed the new bottle of lube to Damen, who caught it expertly. "Make yourself useful."

With a boyish eagerness that left Laurent strangely endeared, Damen slicked his fingers while Laurent tugged his clothes off, and with his other hand caught Laurent by the hip to steer him back between the door and Damen's body. He was taller and broader than Laurent, but somehow it felt more like being cocooned, surrounded by a warm, welcome embrace, than boxed-in.

He grinned at the first press of Damen's fingers inside him. They were longer than his own.

Damen spent an age preparing him, to the point that Laurent began to wonder if this was all Damen planned to do. Laurent let out an impatient huff and pushed his hips back against Damen's hand. "That's enough," he said.

"You don't like this part?"

"Not so much that I don't want to get to the good bit."

"Well, if you insist."

He withdrew from Laurent's body, and Laurent watched, heart racing, hands pressed back against the door to keep himself from reaching out to touch, as Damen stepped out of his jeans and boxer shorts. And the need for such ardent preparation was suddenly apparent. Damen was big, big enough that Laurent wasn't sure his cock would even fit inside him. His stomach tumbled with nervous anticipation while Damen rolled on a condom and moved in close again.

He had soon forgotten all about those worries, though. Damen cupped his hands under Laurent's thighs and lifted him, as if Laurent weighed no more than a bag of flour, the muscles of his pectorals and biceps rippling beneath his golden skin. Laurent grazed his fingertips across them. He'd half-expected them to feel like granite beneath him.

"Ready?"

"Yes."

Damen breached him slowly, pausing entirely too often to make sure Laurent hadn't yet been split in two. Laurent groaned. He'd never felt so full, so stretched, before. Of course, his sample of reference was notoriously small, but he had toys enough to make up for it. He perhaps shouldn't have been surprised that not even those in the business of wish fulfilment could compete with Damen.

He gasped, fingers scrabbling at the wood of the door and legs wrapping tight around Damen's waist, when Damen lowered him even farther onto his cock.

Damen's movements came to an abrupt stop. "Are you all right?" he said, voice filled with concern.

Lauren could have rolled his eyes. "Yes," he said. "Keep going."

Damen began to roll his hips then, one hand splayed in an almost reassuring gesture against the small of Laurent's back while the other reached between them to give his cock some much needed attention. Laurent had been bracing himself for a hard fucking, muscles tensed to hold his own against Damen's pounding, his bottom lip clutched between his teeth to stifle any sounds of discomfort that might have slipped through, but instead Damen moved against him like Laurent was the most precious thing he had ever held in his arms. Each soft thrust was a caress, his arms cradling Laurent, and Laurent found himself surrendering to it. He couldn't think of anywhere he'd rather be than pressed back against the door with nowhere to go but farther into Damen's arms.

"You like it like this," said Damen. It wasn't a question. He brushed his lips along Laurent's collar bone, up towards his neck, and Laurent couldn't be entirely sure he wasn't melting within Damen's strong hold.

His first instinct was to deny it, to scoff and shoot back with a disparaging remark about Damen's abilities. Somehow he doubted it would be very convincing. "Yes."

"You're just full of surprises, aren't you?"

"You seem to be enjoying yourself just as much as I am," said Laurent, pulling his head back to look at Damen, from his damp curls clinging to his forehead to the dark flush spreading across his cheeks.

He beamed in response. "Guilty."

"Come on then," said Laurent, and he clenched himself tight around Damen's cock, drawing a sweet, shattered gasp from him. "Get on with it."

He could feel Damen's laugh reverberating through his own body, before he was readjusting his hold on Laurent and resuming the expert roll of his hips. Gradually his movements picked up speed, each thrust punching a moan from Laurent's chest which Damen met in kind, Laurent's nails digging in to Damen's shoulders to try and tether himself to the moment, to anything that wasn't the desperate ache in his cock. Damen's hand slipped back around Laurent and jerked him in time to his thrusts. Laurent barely even felt it when his head fell back against the door.

"Laurent," gasped Damen, and again, as he dropped his forehead to Laurent's shoulder and his body went rigid.

Laurent brushed his fingers through Damen's hair until the spasms and groans of his climax had passed. He couldn't think of another time he had felt moved to such a tender display during moments like this. Clearly his arousal was affecting his impulse control. Damen lowered Laurent back down onto his shaking legs, and stroked him to his own completion.

"Listen," Damen began, once the two of them had come back to themselves a little, his hands still soothing up and down Laurent's sides like he couldn't bear to pull away completely just yet, "I don't know what you're looking for here—"

Laurent pressed his fingers to Damen's lips before he could say another word. "Why don't we discuss it in the morning?" he said, and took Damen by the hand to lead him into the bedroom.


	10. Dom/Sub [Ancel/Berenger, Canon Compliant]

The first time Ancel had set foot in Berenger's library, he had found it an intimidating place. High, vaulted ceilings like the rest of the fort, though instead of simple but well-made tapestries covering the walls, its stonework was hidden behind bookcases only broken by the occasional torch. Every shelf was laden with books. No wonder Berenger never had any fun, he had thought, when he had so many things in here to read. Of course, he had learnt before long that for Berenger, reading was the fun part.

He had understood that about as much as he had understood the words inside each stuffy tome.

But, slowly, Ancel was coming to learn both.

He was even, somehow, coming to enjoy the library, if only at first because it was the one room Berenger frequented the most often. Ancel would sit inside on one of the chairs by the fireplace and watch Berenger reading opposite him, or writing letters at his desk, marvelling at how easily his hand formed the words. And finally, when the stretches of silence while Berenger was too consumed in his work to pay Ancel any attention had grown too unbearable, Ancel had braved to pick up a book himself.

"Berenger," Ancel said now, curled in what had become his seat, the one closest to the crackling fire, and looked over at Berenger poring over his latest correspondence.

He hummed in response.

"What does this say?"

Berenger looked up at that, his attention catching the way it always did when Ancel showed even the slightest trace of genuine interest in the things Berenger enjoyed. Admittedly, that wasn't often. He pushed to his feet and came to lean against the back of Ancel's chair. "'Consummate,'" he said, when Ancel pointed out the word. "It means—"

"I know what 'consummate' means."

Berenger smiled. "Of course you do," he said. He seemed to remember then the word Ancel had asked him , and the likelihood of finding such a topic in one of his own books. His brows furrowed. "What are you reading?"

"When I tried to read your books, they put me to sleep," answered Ancel. "So I bought some of my own."

"Erotic stories?"

He gave a shrug of one delicate shoulder, entirely aware of the way his silks had slipped down, and of the way Berenger's gaze had followed for a brief moment. "Well, they're better at holding my interest. Would you like me to read you one?"

Berenger looked back towards his desk, clearly thinking of the work still requiring his attention, but the hint of a smile on his face suggested he was at least torn by the decision. Ancel could work with that.

"Here," he said, flicking through the pages, "I'll find a tame one for you."

"I think you and I have different definitions of the word 'tame,'" said Berenger. He returned to his desk and pulled his papers back in front of him, but he looked up at Ancel as if prompting him to continue.

"' _Like a sylph in white chiffon he moves across the stage_ ,'" Ancel began, "' _and I am enraptured. The curls of his hair brush his face as a kiss, a whisper from a lover. Oh, to be the lover of this man; what a gift. To feel that hair of burnished gold between my fingers, to discover if it was truly as soft as it seems from afar. He twirls on the air and I wonder if he would feel so weightless above me. Could I press my hands to him at all, or would they slide through those delicate fabrics to find nothing beneath; a ghost beyond the touch of mere mortals? But it would be a cruel fate, to deprive so enticing a creature of a lover's touch, and as I watch him move as if the music spilled from his very soul, my body aches to bring him to his fill_.'"

Ancel read on, watching Berenger as he described the dancer and his spectator's unfolding fantasies. The tale was doing little to heat his own blood yet. He stumbled over a word here and there, and Berenger corrected his pronunciation but otherwise made no real show of reaction. Ancel smiled to himself at the sight. By the time Ancel was through with him, Berenger would not be able to keep himself quite so composed.

"' _Above me he sighs, arched up to the heavens. I am gone mad with the pleasure of him. He quakes and trembles in his need, yet still he does not allow me to touch, as if a beauty such as his would by marred by my hands upon him. He will have his fill of me and be done, an incubus of my own creation_.'"

He paused then, his eyes flicking down the page but the words silent on his tongue. He had not remembered until now how this story ended, and how the first time Ancel had read it he had marched straight to Berenger and sunk to his knees, seeking to soothe the fire sparked in him by the characters' actions.

Ancel slammed the book closed. The suddenness of the action made Berenger blink in surprise. But Ancel had something better on his mind now than reading about other people having sex.

"Come with me," he said, already on his feet and moving to tug Berenger out of his chair.

"What?"

"Your boring letters can wait."

He pulled Berenger out of the library, not loosening his grip until they had traversed corridors, climbed staircases, and moved through antechamber after antechamber in the rabbit's warren of the fort to reach Berenger's bedroom. Ancel did still have his own chambers on the other side of the building, officially, though he had not bothered to set foot in them in some time. He had no need for them anymore. Even his personal possessions had been slowly migrating into Berenger's rooms, though Berenger did no worse than sigh, fighting to hide his smile, when he was forced to dig through piles of jewellery and trinkets to find his own belongings.

"Are you going to tell me what this is about, Ancel?" said Berenger, once Ancel had deposited him beside the canopied bed (the rich velvet curtains draped on all sides were Ancel's touch) and turned to close the door behind them. He had no qualms about the servants watching, but he knew Berenger wouldn't like it.

Ancel swooped back to him in a breeze of floating silks that drew Berenger's eyes down the length of Ancel's body, and pressed a fingertip to Berenger's lips. "Not another word, understand me?"

Berenger creased his dark brows, but he nodded against Ancel's finger. He didn't fight when Ancel pushed him down onto the bed.

"Don't move."

He'd have never dreamed of speaking to his other patrons this way. He would flirt and tease, of course, put on a show of being difficult, but when it came down to just the two of them and the bedchambers, or wherever else they would have him, Ancel wasn't much different from a common whore: acting on command, his own needs secondary.

Berenger had never been like the others, though. With him, it was easy to forget his contract.

Ancel turned to the wooden trunk at the foot of the bed, which had once held yet more books but was now filled with neatly folded silks and lace, too delicate to be placed alongside the rest of his and Berenger's clothes; the kind that Ancel only liked to wear when he was entertaining Berenger privately. He pulled out a handful of silks, and tested the strength of them between his hands. Satisfied, he climbed over the trunk and onto the mattress, sinking to his knees on either side of Berenger's waist.

"You know, when I bought you these," said Berenger, as Ancel steered his wrists towards the bedposts and fastened him in place, "this wasn't the use for them I'd had in mind."

"What part of 'not another word' escapes you, dear Berenger?" Ancel lowered himself over Berenger's chest, until their lips almost touched. "Or shall I use one of these as a gag?"

He pressed his lips together in response. Ancel debated whether to gag him anyway, but ultimately decided against it. He wanted to hear Berenger moan. Slithering down the bed, Ancel pulled Berenger's trousers down in a sharp tug and tied his ankles to the two remaining posts. His cock hadn't stirred yet. Ancel would soon see to that.

"Here's what is going to happen," said Ancel, as he moved with deliberate languor towards the table beneath the window and picked up the small blade Berenger kept in the top drawer. "You are not to say a word, unless I ask you a question. You are not to move. You are to keep your eyes on me, at all times."

He loosened the tie at his waist just enough for his clothes to fall open a little more, to expose him down to the navel but no farther, and stalked back to Berenger watching him. "And, most importantly: you are not to come until I tell you to. Any questions?"

Berenger smiled, the kind of smile that knew it shouldn't have existed but couldn't help itself. As Ancel settled himself atop Berenger's waist, he could feel the first signs of life against his thigh. "A few," said Berenger. From his tone, none of them were pertinent to the next proceedings.

"That's too bad."

Ancel brought the knife to the hem of Berenger's cotton shirt and sliced it open. Berenger's eyes widened in response, flashing with horror and consternation, but he kept his mouth closed. Certainly Berenger could afford a new one, and his seamstress would always be glad of the added income. Ancel had done him a favour, really. Perhaps he should move on to Berenger's jackets next, while he had Berenger silent and bound.

Instead, though, he let the knife trail back down Berenger's chest; too light a touch to pierce the skin, but just enough for him to feel the sharpness of the blade. His other hand he smoothed in its wake, until he reached Berenger's navel and tossed the knife aside. It was only then that Berenger let out a breath — yet all the while, his cock against the back of Ancel's thigh had not faltered. Ancel let his hand reach below his own body to where he and Berenger touched, resting atop his cock without yet closing around it, while Berenger's breathing changed into a soft sigh.

"Remember your rules," said Ancel.

He curled his hand slightly, dragged a too-light touch along Berenger's length, and was up off the bed in an instant. He grinned as Berenger bit his lip in response, as if to hold back a groan, or a curse of frustration. His heart raced at his own daring, at the thought of what was to come, but he did not allow himself to entertain the smile that wanted to spread across his lips. If Berenger was going to play along, so too was Ancel.

He straightened his posture, coolly commanding, eyeing Berenger still watching him intently with what Ancel hoped was an air of detachment, as he reached for a pot of oil and slithered back onto the mattress. This time he knelt at Berenger's side, depriving him of even the touch of Ancel's thighs on his.

"Are you ready to begin?"

"I think so." His eyes on Ancel glittered in the flickering lights about their room.

Ancel dropped his silks. He let Berenger's gaze roam over him, and, before it could settle back on Ancel's face, he slid his hand slowly down his own chest, watching Berenger follow the movement. The air punched its way from Berenger's chest when Ancel closed his fist around his cock and began to stroke himself. With his other hand he reached into the oil, and let it drizzle from his fingertips over Berenger's cock, but he was not going to touch just yet. Berenger could watch for the moment.

Only when his display risked growing stale did Ancel finally reach instead for Berenger's waiting erection, and Berenger let out a soft keen at the feel of Ancel's hand closing around him.

That wasn't nearly a good enough reaction for Ancel's liking.

He stroked him in every way he knew Berenger liked, and some they had never tried before, altering the pace and the intensity just when Berenger started to enjoy it a little too much. Frustration crept more and more into the sounds Berenger made beneath him, until, when Ancel removed his hand completely just as Berenger was beginning to peak, Berenger dropped his head back onto the mattress with a groan sharper than any sound Ancel had heard from him.

Ancel grinned in response, and started the whole act back up again.

"Did you learn this from one of your stories?" said Berenger, through gritted teeth, the third time Ancel had brought him to the edge of his climax and refused to let him slip over it.

"Ah, ah," Ancel scolded. He pulled his hand back, and Berenger let out a frustrated noise, hips still thrusting up into a fist that was no longer there, that had Ancel grinning. "I told you not to speak. If you can't follow the rules, perhaps we should stop playing."

Berenger groaned behind his pursed lips, holding himself back from cursing. It was the closest Ancel had seen him to losing control, and still he held himself back. Ancel would have to do better.

"Are you going to be good?"

"Yes."

Ancel returned his hand to Berenger's cock, falling immediately back to his original pace as if it had never been disturbed, and the tension in Berenger's body melted away. Were it not for the frequency that Ancel dragged him to bed, seeing Berenger actually relaxed would have been a strange sensation. The only other time it happened was during a ride; on those days, Ancel was the one wound too tight.

"One day," said Ancel, his hand still working in slow strokes up and down Berenger's cock, "I'm going to fuck you. Would you like that?"

"Yes." He shifted his legs, as much as he was able with his ankles fastened, spreading his thighs as if in anticipation. Ancel had to fight the urge to raise his eyebrows. Berenger had never expressed much interest in such a thing before, yet the thought seemed to thrill him now. Ancel's cock gave a throb of desire at the prospect of burying itself inside as well.

"Do you want to feel my fingers inside you?" He slid his hand from Berenger's cock, fingertips light on his skin as they danced between his legs.

Berenger quivered against the touch. There was sweat gathering at his temples. "Yes," he said again, the word a breath.

Ancel snatched his hand back before it could glance over the tight muscle there waiting for him. "I don't think you have earned it yet. Another day, perhaps."

Visibly Berenger deflated at those words, and at the absence of Ancel's touch. It took all of Ancel's resolve not to take pity on him — or himself, perhaps; his own body was almost as far gone as Berenger's, requiring the same strength of will not to let himself tumble into bliss. Even so, he moved his hand to his own cock, slow strokes that offered no real relief but the sight of which would crawl under Berenger's skin and infuriate him further.

"How badly do you want to come?" He looked down as he spoke. Berenger's cock was flushed a dark, painful-looking crimson, twitching and throbbing as if under a phantom touch. Were Ancel in his position, he wasn't sure he would have been able to last this long. It was hard enough for him to keep his resolve, so desperate to bring Berenger to his fill, to watch him gasp and strain and wreck himself, all for Ancel. He had been so good throughout this game. Ancel wanted to reward him.

"Ancel, I need to."

"Are you going to wait for my permission?"

A pause, then, resigned: "Yes."

Ancel grinned. "Good boy."

He sprang forward, straddling Berenger's heaving chest and placing himself close enough that if Berenger strained towards him he would almost be able to touch Ancel's cock with his tongue. He tried, of course. Even now he still showed more concern for Ancel's needs than anyone else ever had. Ancel moved his hand faster, curling his fist at the head as Berenger always did when he touched him. It did not take long for him to come. He emptied himself over Berenger, watching his release splatter across Berenger's flushed skin, and Berenger gasped at the feel of it as if he was the one who had reached his climax.

They fell quiet then. Berenger's gaze was soft on Ancel while he trembled through the after effects. If his hands had been free they would have been sliding tender across Ancel's skin to soothe him back down. Part of Ancel wished he had untied him. The other part, however, was looking down at Berenger's arms tensing against his restraints, and deciding the sacrifice of his touch was more than worth it.

With all the grace Ancel could force to his tired limbs he lowered himself to kiss Berenger, flicking his tongue out to catch the drops of semen on his cheek before resuming the kiss. "You can come now," he said against Berenger's lips, and reached between them for Berenger's cock.

A few quick, simple jerks of his hand, and Berenger came with a sigh of such deep satisfaction and relief that Ancel would be sure to replay the sound in his head at every given opportunity. He soaked Ancel's palm, his body arching and spasming more intensely than Ancel had ever witnessed. Berenger's orgasms were often tasteful affairs, almost as restrained as the rest of him, but now he moaned with abandon, like a lion freed from its cage. It was incredible.

Ancel kissed him again, deep and needy, and blindly he stretched to wrench open Berenger's bindings. Immediately his arms were around Ancel, and they kissed until the breath left them, along with what little energy remained. In the calm that swept into the room, though, the reality of what Ancel had just done finally sank in.

"Berenger," he said, after a long stretch of quiet, though he wasn't yet brave enough to glance up at him, "did you like it? It doesn't have to be that way if you didn't. I don't usually—"

"I liked it," he interrupted, before Ancel could ramble on. "I'm surprised you haven't suggested it before, given how much you love to boss me around."

Ancel smiled, the tension in him washing away and leaving only a deep-rooted warmth behind. He wriggled under Berenger's arm to curl against him. His bicep hardly made for the most comfortable pillow, but Ancel was in no hurry to displace himself.

"You enjoy it when I boss you around."

He could hear the smile in Berenger's voice. "I do."


	11. Half-dressed [Damen/Laurent, Modern AU]

The gulf of Atros was a jewel beneath them; a vast topaz stretching far out towards the distant white cliffs of Ios, sparkling under the brilliant sun high over head. Here, along the coasts of Isthima, the water was clear enough that the sea bed looked well within reach, more like gazing into a shallow rock pool than a deep sound large enough to easily accommodate the ferries trundling to and from the mainland, and the frequent cruise ships that docked on the island. But from where Damen stood, all he could see was blue.

"Scared of heights?" he said, and glanced over at Laurent stood beside him. He was peering down the scabrous edge of the bluff they stood atop. The sunlight that bounced off his lily white skin was bright enough that it was hard not to squint against it. Even the generous helpings of factor 50 that Damen had massaged onto him with more care and attention than had perhaps been necessary would not keep his delicate skin protected for long. Looking over at him, Damen felt the absurd impulse to wrap his arms around Laurent and shield him from the harsh sun himself.

Laurent lifted his head, languidly, like he was looking Damen's way only because he wanted to, not because Damen's words had meant anything to him. Damen had been teasing, and Laurent knew it, but still he levelled Damen with a stare cold enough to scare the sun behind the clouds. Damen was too used to that look by now to be swayed by it.

Laurent took a casual step back, then another, then he took a running leap off the edge of the rocks.

He arced gracefully, arranging his limbs like a professional diver might as he descended, and hit the water below with an impressive splash.

"Show off," Damen said to himself with a smile.

He waited for the pale head to re-emerge amidst the disrupted blanket of blue, and made his own exhilarating plunge to join it. The rush of air against his skin and welcoming embrace of cool, salt-scented water was a salve for the summer sun. He pushed back against the water and broke out again into the daylight.

Laurent was waiting for him, regarding Damen with one perfectly arched brow while Damen shook his hair from his face. "You were saying?" he said, his voice saccharine, though not even his affected nonchalance could hide the hint of breathlessness, of exhilaration.

"You're right," replied Damen, and with one thrust of his body he was cutting through the water to close the distance between them. Beneath the water's surface, his hands slid to Laurent's lower back. "We should find a more exciting activity for you."

"What are you doing?" Laurent said, when Damen's brazen fingers probed under the waistband of his shorts. He knew exactly what Damen was doing, but Damen answered him anyway.

"Something more exciting," he said. He leant in close, pressing his lips to the side of Laurent's neck. His skin was warm.

"Not very appropriate behaviour for a prince of Akielos, is it?"

"No," said Damen. And if not for the adrenaline still surging through his veins, he'd have been scandalised by his own behaviour, his careless disregard for how exposed they were. This wouldn't be considered appropriate behaviour for any Akielon; certainly not one of Damen's standing. "But I'm on holiday."

In fact, aside from Laurent the only person who even knew he was here was Nikandros. As far as anyone else in Akielos knew, he was still in Ios, not shacked up here with the Prince of Vere for the week, practising their own unique brand of diplomatic relations. There was nobody who might spot them here who would have reason to believe they had stumbled across royalty engaging in such undignified behaviour.

But, perhaps out of respect for his more rational side, Damen forced himself back from Laurent's inviting arms to look around. There were a few boats drifting past, none so close as to notice either of the twin swimmers at the base of the rocks — or what they were doing — and they were far enough from the main stretch of beach to avoid the summer crowds. It was about as close to an isolated spot as they were likely to find.

Even so, Damen steered Laurent back, into the shadow of the bluffs above them, as he stole a kiss. Laurent's arms wound around his shoulders to welcome it. Of course he wasn't going to object. If a Veretian prince didn't get amorous during a break from the palace, especially at a place as romantic as Isthima, it would probably throw his suitability for his royal duties into question.

They kissed deep, and needy, as if they hadn't spent much of the past week doing exactly this, and when Damen's hands ventured further into Laurent's shorts he found him already eager. At the first brush of calloused palms on tumescent flesh Laurent broke their kiss, a satisfied sigh on his lips. The sound was almost lost among the crash of waves on rocks and the cawing of gulls above them. He dropped his head back, face titled towards the heavens, and Damen could look nowhere else. Not even the beauty of the island, arguably the most beautiful spot in Akielos outside of the palace at Ios itself, could compete with this.

The growing look of bliss on Laurent's face, the flush creeping from his cheeks down to his neck and chest, the dusty pink nipples perked into hard buds that demanded the attention of tongue and teeth — those were Damen's motivations as he grasped Laurent's cock more firmly and worked his way through the exhaustive list he'd complied of ways to take Laurent apart. He teased the head with his thumb; changed his pace often enough that Laurent couldn't fall into the rhythm but feel every moment; brought his other hand in to fondle Laurent's balls. His eyes stayed on Laurent all the while.

Laurent's breathing hitched and shook, even more so than after their dive from the cliff top. He couldn't claim to be unmoved by this adventure. The water around them swirled, disrupted by their movements, and Laurent hooked his leg around Damen's to keep their bodies pressed together.

It made it harder to tread water and keep them upright. Damen didn't care. Sinking was a more appealing prospect than letting go.

The heavy breaths forcing their way from Laurent's lungs became soft moans as Damen worked him. He was the picture of Veretian debauchery, his face contorted in ecstasy and his hips pushing desperately forwards into Damen's hands.

The first time Damen had set foot in Vere, on a diplomatic visit with his father when he was thirteen, they had conducted their meetings with Laurent's father and various other Veretian dignitaries in a hall decorated with an expansive, unabashed mural of an orgy. Damen had been scandalised by it at the time, but also strangely unable to tear his eyes away, and those faces had stayed with him ever since. Right now, Laurent's looked similar.

His blue eyes were dark with lust when Laurent forced them open to meet Damen's. There was something else in them, too, something Damen had grown only too familiar with in the time he'd known Laurent. It wasn't a surprise when Laurent dropped a hand from his shoulder to slip inside Damen's own trunks, nor was he surprised by the intensity of Laurent's attentions from the offset. Laurent had to be close to unravelling if he was trying to get Damen caught up so quickly.

It was working, though. Damen's body had already been strumming with tension just from watching Laurent, and he didn't try to hold back the growing fire inside him as Laurent worked his cock with well-practised precision. Their approaching climaxes spurred both of them on, a cycle of heat and fury as they moved faster, harder, fucking each other's fists while their mouths met in a hungry kiss.

Laurent was the first to break. It came without warning. There was no time for the gradual build up Damen was used to in their flurry of desperate activity, until Laurent tensed in Damen's arms and spilled across his palm. Damen's body took that as its permission to do the same, and he crested, a blissful tranquillity seeping into his muscles while he gradually returned from his detour into the heavens.

In shaky silence they held each other, the water lapping at their sides a lover's caress as they caught their breaths. It was that gentle rocking against him that nudged forward the memory of where they were, and Damen pulled back from his world of Laurent to offer a sheepish glance around them. Luckily, no-one seemed to have noticed them. They were still alone, still undetected.

When Damen looked back, Laurent was grinning.

"Yes," he said, "that was more exciting."


	12. Fingering [Damen/Laurent, Post-canon]

The great library was dim, its high windows almost completely hidden behind the rows and rows of books that filled the long room, and cool enough in the absence of the summer sun that Damen could have easily forgotten he was still in Ios. He stepped into the shadows, silent as a dream.

Across the room, illuminated by sputtering candles burning low and a stray beam of sunlight, Laurent was sat at one of the tables in the open centre of the room. Damen had expected him to be. When he had shown Laurent the room upon his first visit to the palace, Laurent's pale brows had climbed, his eyes widening as he took in the sight, like he was cataloguing where he planned to start exploring the vast collection upon his first opportunity. From the stack of books on the table in front of him, he had already begun to make good headway.

Damen smiled at the sight. He leant back against the bookcase beside him to drink it in. In that moment, he wasn't watching the Crown Prince of Vere, just months shy of his ascension to the throne and already a formidable leader; before him was the bookish boy Laurent had once been, wholly consumed by the words he devoured with hungry eyes, lost in his mind in a way so far removed from the constant schemes and planning Damen was used to. He seemed younger, somehow, without the weight of his responsibility drawing lines on his face.

"Is there something you want?" Laurent said, without looking up. "Or are you just going to lurk?"

Damen felt his smile stretch wider as he stepped forward. "What are you reading?"

He crossed the room to join Laurent, perching on the table beside his collection of books. There were a number of Akielon texts among them, and Damen wondered if Laurent's skill with the language had come on far enough for him to be able to fully digest them.

Laurent closed the book, and placed it at Damen's side on the table like it was a most cherished possession. "It was one of my favourites, as a boy," he said.

Damen traced his finger over the delicate Veretian lettering. Not a tale of heroes besting monsters like those Damen had always adored, as he would have expected from anyone else; it was an account of Vere's fraught history with Kempt. Trust Laurent to be enraptured by stories of conflict and deception.

"I wouldn't have expected to find Veretian history texts in an Akielon collection."

Damen shrugged. "I suppose knowing Vere's strengths and weaknesses in war would have proved useful in besting you."

A sly smile crept across Laurent's lips as he looked up at Damen. The light cast long shadows across his face, but amongst them his eyes still glittered. "Did it?"

"I don't know. I've never read it."

They shared a moment of soft, fleeting laughter. Laurent's hand came to rest on Damen's thigh beside him, his fingers drawing idle, swirling patterns along Damen's skin. "You feel warm," he said.

"I was looking for you in the gardens."

Laurent's eyes flicked back up to Damen's face. "Is something wrong?"

"No," said Damen. He didn't say that he'd simply missed Laurent; that the time since he had last seen him, calm and peaceful in sleep against Damen's body that morning, had felt like a torturous lifetime; that it was so rare for them to be able to spend any real time together that having Laurent in the palace yet not being at his side was a waste. Instead, he said: "I just wondered how you were occupying yourself, all alone in the palace."

Laurent caught the meaning behind the words in Damen's face, perhaps, or the way he had been shifting unconsciously closer as if even the inches that parted them were too much. "And you were all alone as well?" he prompted. As he spoke his hand ventured farther up Damen's thigh and into the confines of his skirts.

It was suddenly much harder to collect his thoughts. His breath hitched a little in anticipation, and he swallowed as he tried to orient himself. "You're leaving again soon," he said.

The same tone that had weighted Damen's words was heavy in Laurent's when he spoke. "Yes."

"We should make the most of the time we still have."

Laurent grinned, the flicker of sadness that had passed across his features at the thought of their parting replaced by their better, more immediate, reality. He peered up at Damen through his eyelashes. "And how would you suggest we do that?" he said.

Damen swept down and stole a kiss.

The kiss was slow and familiar, unhurried despite Damen's eagerness. Without their lips ever parting Laurent was out of his chair, and he slotted himself between Damen's thighs. Damen pushed himself up off the table just enough to press his hips against Laurent's, and the drag of their bodies together drew from Laurent a soft gasp, escaping the seal of their lips on a whisper of breath. The next time Damen moved against him so, Laurent was groaning into his mouth.

After breathless minutes Laurent pulled back. He reached into the folds of his chiton and withdrew a small bottle. Damen had seen countless like it in his time. He raised his eyebrows, and in return Laurent gave a shrug.

"Your appetites are not bound to the bedroom alone," he said simply. "I've learnt it's best to be prepared."

It was difficult to argue that point when the two of them were stood as they were. And this did mean they wouldn't have to march, dishevelled and in obvious arousal, through the palace to return to Damen's chambers. The others occupying the palace would doubtless be glad of that. The library was a more public forum for intimacy than Damen would have liked, however it was typically a quiet place, more so than many of the other rooms. They did have a fair chance of going undisturbed.

He spun them so it was Laurent's thighs pressed back against the thick wood of the table, and as he leant down to taste Laurent's lips once more he took the bottle from Laurent. He'd had practice enough to manoeuvre the bottle open and wet his fingers without taking his attention from Laurent.

Laurent spread his legs for Damen.

"You should wear Akielon clothing every day," said Damen, the words muffled perhaps by his lips pressed close to Laurent's neck, while he circled his fingertips over the delicate muscle of Laurent's entrance.

"A tempting proposition." Laurent shifted his hips forward for Damen to probe deeper within him. "But I fear you would never get any work done."

In that moment the sacrifice seemed almost worth it.

He let the pressure of his fingers against Laurent ebb and surge, an attempt to keep him on his toes that, knowing Laurent, he would quickly overcome. But even if he had discovered some rhythm to Damen's movements that Damen himself wasn't fully aware of yet, Laurent was still enjoying himself. His hands were clutched tight at Damen's arms to steady himself as he moved his hips with Damen's fingers, a pink flush creeping across his skin, and finally Damen pressed his fingers inside the welcoming heat of Laurent's body.

Laurent let out a low, satisfied hum in response. "Deeper," he said, and Damen did as he was commanded — and it was a command, Laurent somehow still in control even as he leant backwards over the table at the mercy of Damen's hands — rubbing at Laurent's insides with his fingertips as they sank deeper in search of the place he was most sensitive.

It wasn't long before Laurent's breathing hitched and his knuckles turned white from his iron grip.

"Here?" said Damen. He already knew, and already his fingers were moving in place, massaging Laurent from the inside.

"Yes."

Laurent straightened and buried his face in the crook of Damen's shoulder, as if he could hide, perhaps, from the sensations overwhelming his body, still a newcomer to such pleasures. If Damen could have it his way, Laurent would soon be an expert on the subject. And if they could ever steal more than a week or so together at a time to devote to their own needs over their respective countries'. The sweet thought of those days on the horizon filled Damen's heart to the brim and threatened to spill.

Laurent's mouth on Damen's neck was a bellows fanning the growing fire within him. His cock was verging on painful now, throbbing with his need to be touched, and, as if he had sensed it somehow, Laurent reached down beneath Damen's chiton to wrap a warm, expert hand around him.

He'd not last long with Laurent stroking him, working his way up to tease the head with feather-light touches that had Damen cursing aloud before slipping back, a promise of relief still waiting to be filled. Their touches fell into a rhythm as the growing sounds of their pleasure echoed through the room. Damen couldn't tell which of them was matching the other's movements, or if indeed this was their natural state, synced together as two halves of a whole.

"Damen," Laurent choked out, and Damen pulled back to look at him. He had his eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched, trying desperately to retain control over himself. His untouched cock was wet and flushed.

This had come about faster than Damen had expected. Perhaps Laurent was already learning to venture out from himself in these intimate moments.

Damen brushed a ghost of a kiss against Laurent's lips as he took his cock in hand, and with barely a few strokes he was coming with the sweet gasps Damen had cherished since the first he had been given. At the sight of Laurent melting in his ecstasy, the feel of his release coating Damen's hand, Damen joined him in bliss.

When it was over Damen sank back down onto the chair Laurent had vacated. He wasn't sure his legs had the strength to hold him upright at present. He pulled Laurent down with him, wrapping his arms tight around Laurent's fine waist while Laurent dropped his head to rest against Damen. They sat in quiet comfort for a time, the only sound their strained breathing, their hands caressing across one another's damp skin, and before the candles in front of them could burn out, Damen took up Laurent's book. He turned to the page Laurent had marked with a strip of ribbon, cleared his throat, and began to read into the silence.


	13. Outdoors [Pallas/Lazar, Canon compliant]

The camp was still alive with activity, despite the sun having sunk below the tree line hours ago. It wouldn't fully die down for some time yet, until all the wine had been drunk and the soldiers had no wits left about them to do anything more than stumble back to their tents and sleep. Some might not even manage that first part. They were not often granted the opportunity to celebrate. So far the Akielons had managed to drink them into the dirt every time.

If he did say so himself, Lazar was holding his wine remarkably well. He had lost count of the number of times he had refilled his cup, but as he walked to the tree line now his feet were steady, his path straight. He did stumble a few times on his journey through the trees, though that was clearly the fault of the darkness masking tree roots breeching up from the ground to catch at unsuspecting feet, not his own inebriation. It did nothing to slow his steps, anyway.

Only moments earlier Pallas had caught Lazar's eye across the fire that a clutch of the men had been seated around. He had held Lazar's gaze for long seconds, and deliberately climbed to his feet to head for the copse at the edge of their camp, away from prying eyes. Lazar hadn't hesitated in following.

Nothing cleared a man's head quite like the promise of sex.

He soon found Pallas leaning back against one of the trees in wait for him, and they shared a smile. They had still not managed to communicate in much beyond eye contact. Lazar had asked Damen to teach him a few choice Akielon phrases, but he had refused, paling with wide-eyed horror, when Lazar had told him what he'd wanted to say.

But he and Pallas were making do without words. Lazar crowded him back against the tree and they kissed, deep and wet, Lazar's hands creeping to Pallas' strong thighs and sliding up under his skirts. He was already hard against Lazar's palm. The noise he made when Lazar curled his fist around him and started to stroke had Lazar throbbing in his trousers. He needed them off. They had wasted enough time already.

He pulled back, and Pallas turned to press his chest to the bark, hiking up his chiton while Lazar wrenched open the laces of his trousers and pulled his cock free. Even in the gloom where the moonlight couldn't quite break through the trees, he could make out the round, firm swell of Pallas' cheeks. He dropped to his knees and grazed his teeth over the smooth skin of one, his hand landing a playful slap to the other as Pallas' body shook with laughter above him.

Pallas said something in response. The words were lost on Lazar, but his tone was thick with desire, and Lazar grinned while he straightened. He reached into the small inner pocket of his jacket and withdrew a phial of oil. Necessity had long ago taught him to always keep one close to hand. It was surprising how often he'd found himself in situations such as this one throughout his life.

Without preamble he slicked his fingers and pressed them into Pallas' waiting body, tighter around his fingers than the frothily ornate clothing the courtiers at Arles laced themselves into to cut off the blood flow to their cocks. Pallas pushed back against him with a low groan, and for a moment Lazar felt he could have watched Pallas fuck himself on Lazar's fingers until he came.

The feeling didn't last. His own cock gave another insistent throb as he worked Pallas open, his body priming itself to be inside. Maybe there was something in his roughened breathing that gave it away, or maybe Pallas was just more in tune to Lazar than he would have expected, but he reached a warm hand back to slide it along Lazar's shaft.

"I love the way you do that," he said. He curled himself against Pallas' back, burying his face in the crook of his neck and pressing his lips to the skin there. He could feel Pallas' pulse jumping beneath his lips.

Pallas worked him for long seconds, his movements in time to Lazar's fingers dragging in and out inside him, his hips rocking back for more, until finally he breathed out a single word. Its meaning was clear enough from his tone.

_Yes_.

It was about time.

Lazar slicked his cock with oil in a few easy, practiced movements, and was back inside. They did this often enough by now that he sank in with one smooth slide, as Pallas let out a sweet noise of satisfaction before turning to catch Lazar's mouth in another hungry kiss.

There was no preamble to it, Lazar's hips falling into a fast rhythm, his hand on Pallas' cock to keep them both on course together, but that was the way Lazar had always liked it, and Pallas responded enthusiastically enough. His fingers curled in the bark of the tree as his other hand came to rest over Lazar's, steering his hand to stroke him harder, faster, words falling unchecked from his lips. Lazar caught his own name among them.

"If I had known Akielons fucked like this I would have travelled to your country sooner," said Lazar against the hot skin of Pallas' shoulder. He was grinding his hips up into Pallas' now, Pallas' expert clenching and releasing around his cock sending fire coursing through his veins. It was beginning to settle low in his belly, waiting to consume him, when he heard something between his and Pallas' moans and sighs.

It was the sound of breaking twigs, coming closer with the rhythm of footsteps. But Lazar was too far gone to stop now.

"Aimeric, we should stay close to the camp," a voice said.

"Why, so a group of half-drunk Akielons can eavesdrop on our conversations?"

The footsteps came to an abrupt stop just seconds later, and there was silence but for the sound of Lazar fucking into Pallas' wet body. Even the rowdiness of the camp seemed to have died down a little. Lazar shifted to gaze back over his shoulder.

"Captain," he said, not faltering in his thrusts for a moment.

Jord stared at him, stone-faced, and turned to head back for the camp without a word.


	14. Rimming [Damen/Laurent, Post-canon]

Damen managed to extricate himself from the celebrations — if that was indeed what they could be described as — before Laurent, the Veretian court not yet done with their recently crowned king. Damen didn't wait for him. Laurent would slip away as soon as he was able. And Damen could perhaps use a few moments to himself, without Laurent's knowing gaze upon him.

He walked the halls to the king's chambers with weighted footsteps. He could feel the heat still colouring his cheeks, shame and embarrassment and something else entirely roiling hot within him. As much as things had changed in Vere with Laurent's rule, the poisonous influence of the Regent washed clean, it was still Vere. The more carnal of the court's excesses were as much a part of Arles as the thick stone of its walls, and neither would crumble any time soon.

Damen stepped into the mercifully empty quarters he and Laurent shared, closed the doors behind him, and let a shaking exhale tear free of his lungs. He had thought there was nothing left in Vere that could shock him, after the things he had seen in this court. He had never witnessed anything quite like some of the displays tonight, though — and he was far from inexperienced in the acts of pleasuring a lover.

They really did do things differently in Vere.

Yet most shocking, perhaps, was his own reaction. He throbbed again at the thought, and felt a fresh curl of embarrassment in his chest in response.

He needed a drink.

On the table, nestled between the maps of the region and intricate plans written in Laurent's neat, flourished handwriting, was a tray bearing fresh wine and a pair of over-engraved goblets. Damen filled one to the brim, and drank deep.

He was just setting his cup down when the doors opened again behind him and Laurent entered the room. He looked far more composed than Damen felt.

Warm eyes flicked up and down over Damen, and a smiled birthed on Laurent's fine lips; a smile that looked to turn into a laugh at any moment. "Have you reclaimed your wits yet?"

"Is that a common practice in Vere?" He didn't need to specify which of the night's many pleasures he was talking about.

Laurent gave a shrug. He was perhaps not the best person to ask, Damen realised. "Get some sleep," he said, as he stepped closer, and placed a delicate hand on Damen's bare forearm. Amusement still danced on his face. "I fear this evening has been too taxing on your delicate sensibilities."

"You know, sometimes I think you plan these things yourself, just to rile me."

Laurent was the picture of innocence looking back up at him. "Now, why would I wish to cause you discomfort?"

"Because you are a menace." Damen said it with a smile, and pressed a soft kiss to Laurent's lips, readily accepted. His mind drifted back to the twinned figures that hadn't been far from his thoughts all evening, and something tugged sharp and needy in his gut. He pulled back with a start, and swallowed thickly.

The look of amusement returned to Laurent's face, as if he could read every thought swirling in Damen's mind as easily as if it was his own. "I need to bathe," he announced, and swept past Damen, into the bedroom, and the small room beyond that held his own private tub: carved in elegant marble, much like Laurent himself seemed to be.

Damen followed into the bedroom, freed himself of his own clothes, and lay on the bed, but he feared sleep would remain a stranger to him. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw it. His heart beat steadily, insistently, in his chest, and his thoughts swarmed. He lay listening to the occasional splash of water from the next room, waiting for Laurent to return to him. His mind was made up, it seemed. Certainly his body had made its own wishes clear, and Damen was powerless to it in that moment.

He had to admit, there was something quite intoxicating to the thought of it.

Laurent hadn't bothered to dress again when he strolled back into the bedroom, his skin flushed from the heat of the water and the tips of his hair still damp. He took in the sight of Damen, clearly roused, and grinned.

"Come here," said Damen.

Laurent followed him down onto the bed, though before he could settle in at Damen's side Damen caught him, and steered him to his knees. He took up his own position behind. His stomach tensed, but the rest of him had already surrendered. Damen brushed his lips against the firm swell of Laurent's backside.

"Will you let me?" he said against Laurent's skin.

He looked back at Damen, bottom lip between his teeth in a moment's hesitation, perhaps, and nodded.

Damen pressed forward to slip his tongue between Laurent's cheeks. His skin was soft, and warm, and inviting, and Damen dragged his tongue upwards, towards its target. Laurent let out a shaking breath when Damen licked at the puckered muscle.

To his surprise, it felt a far cry from the vile depravity he had expected. Any discomfort at his own actions was swiftly placated by the soft noises of pleasure Laurent was making above him. He'd gladly sacrifice anything for the sake of Laurent's enjoyment.

And, well, perhaps he was enjoying it on his own terms. He pressed his tongue inside, mimicking the movements of his fingers, of his cock, as his body responded as if was those working inside Laurent. With the hand not splayed across Laurent's cheek, kneading the firm flesh and spreading him wider, Damen reached down for his cock. From the slight shifting of Laurent's body above him, he was doing the same. It would be over before long at this rate, though, as much as Damen wished to wrap his arms around Laurent's waist and not surface from between his legs until the morning sun broke through the windows, the ache in his jaw and his tongue was growing insistent.

"Damen," gasped Laurent, and Damen moaned against his skin in response, before he could feel Laurent's body clamping tight around and above him and he was spilling his release onto the bedspread.

The thought that little more than his own tongue could provoke such was enough to bring Damen close to his own end, and when Laurent sank down onto the mattress Damen pressed forward, littering kisses up Laurent's spine as his hand moved faster on his cock. Laurent twisted beneath him and pulled him down into a deep kiss, heedless to where Damen's tongue had just been, and Damen came.

He collapsed onto Laurent, and Laurent wrapped his arms around Damen's shoulders, holding him close as their legs tangled together, like they needed to be pressed so tight against one another for the closeness of these intimacies to continue.

Laurent's fingers slipped into Damen's hair. "Are you all right?" he said. His voice was as smooth and strong as if he had not just been taken apart by Damen's mouth on him.

"Yes." Damen looked up. "Are you?"

He nodded in response. There was a devilish smile working its way back to his lips. "I take it you will be visiting the displays more often from now on?"

"Shut up," replied Damen, though he couldn't help the smile creeping to his own face. Perhaps there was a thing or two he could learn from the Veretian court, after all.


	15. 69 [Damen/Laurent, Modern AU]

Typically, Damen enjoyed royal visits. He might roll his eyes at the pomp and circumstance, or feel stifled by the media scrutiny increased to fever pitch, but for the most part he had a good time. There was always a thrill to visiting foreign palaces, and learning of local cultures and traditions in a way that far surpassed whatever Damen could glean for himself from the internet. Besides, his father had instilled in him at a young age the value in representing his country, and Damen still took that duty seriously.

However, when the visits in question were to Arles, Damen's enthusiasm never could quite reach its usual heights.

He had been sixteen the first time he had visited Arles with his father, just four short months after the official signing of their nations' peace treaty. It was too soon for Damen to shake the lifetime of ill feeling, not helped by his father's insistence that Kastor remain in Ios to spare Veretian blushes, and tensions were still high on both sides, despite both kings putting on an air of friendship. Subsequent trips had been less fraught, but no less extravagant. He had learnt to survive the nightly seven-course meals of too-rich food without making himself sick, though there was no getting used to Vere's other indulgences.

"When you said theatre," Damen said, his voice too low to be heard by the others sat around him in the royal box, "I had thought you meant real theatre. You know, the kind that involves acting."

Beside him, Laurent's smile was mild. "I'd say this definitely involves acting. You can tell that one's faking it."

Damen and Laurent had met too many times to count over the last decade, but it had taken years for Damen to really take notice of him. He had told himself it was because of Laurent's tendency throughout his childhood and teens to lurk in his brother's shadow, happy to be ignored if it meant he could ignore everyone else in turn. But perhaps the reason was simpler. Between Laurent's eighteenth birthday celebrations in the spring to the summer games held in Ios only a month later, Laurent had transformed from an awkward, gangly teen into a striking young man with all the newfound confidence that came along with it.

Damen's eyes had wandered nowhere else since.

Mercifully, the performance was over soon enough, and to rapturous applause the curtain dropped while the stage was prepared for the next display. Damen dreaded to think what it might be. Around them their families and the members of King Aleron's council were getting to their feet, helping themselves to the offered drinks or milling about in the kind of benign chit-chat that turned Laurent dangerous. He had not yet managed to cause an international incident, but Damen suspected it was only a matter of time.

A tug at his wrist, and Damen looked back at Laurent. His eyes were bright, intent. He said nothing, but as he took a step forward his hand remained on Damen's, prompting him to follow.

Damen wasn't about to argue. There was only one person he wanted to see in such an intimate display, and this was hardly the place for it.

They didn't make it far before someone spotted their furtive escape.

"Laurent," a voice came from beside them when they ducked to the doors, luckily quiet enough for none of the others to hear, and Auguste shot his brother a stern look. He was not a stern man by nature, more likely to offer a warm handshake and easy smile than even a hint of disdain, but Damen imagined Laurent had given him more than enough chances over the years to perfect the look. It was hard not to feel cowed by it himself, though beside him Laurent stood immune.

"Auguste," he replied. Similarly, his innocent tone was one that had been well-honed.

Auguste knew better than to fall for it this time, however. He was the only one aware of the true nature of Damen and Laurent's relationship, but supportive as he was, he had also taken it upon himself to make sure the two of them maintained a show of propriety when they met at official events such as this one. Damen understood the need for it better than Laurent did. He did attempt to keep the same restraint himself, though Laurent had a habit of breaking through his willpower like it was made of sugar glass.

"The show's not over yet."

Laurent gazed back towards the curtains, as if he had forgotten they were here for a reason. When he looked back at Auguste, his eyes were large and pleading. Damen smothered the need to roll his own. Laurent was such a brat.

"Auguste, it's been months," he said. It hadn't; they had managed to slip away for a weekend in Isthima barely four weeks ago, but evidently not even Auguste knew about that trip. "Make an excuse for us. Just for tonight."

Auguste's gaze flicked between the two of them. He was going to give in. When it came to Laurent, he usually did. "Just make sure you're back at the palace before the rest of us return. And take a guard with you."

"Of course."

They stepped out of the box, where a pair of guards, one Akielon and one Veretian, stood to attention on either side of the doors. The rest of army of combined security forces would be scattered throughout the building and perimeter.

"Jord," said Laurent to one, "Crown Prince Damianos and I are returning to the palace early. Have the car brought to the front doors."

"The front doors, your highness? Is that wise?"

"We might as well give the press a few candid shots."

Jord nodded, and reached for his radio. "I'll inform the driver."

"Personally, if you don't mind. We'll follow shortly."

"Yes, your highness." He disappeared from sight down the stairs.

"Exalted." It was Pallas, Damen's personal guard, his head bowed in a mark of respect that had never been protocol yet he insisted on it all the same. "Shall I accompany you?"

"No; stay here with my father. Thank you."

Across the small antechamber Laurent was pushing open an unmarked door and nodding for Damen to follow. It was a service exit, Damen discovered when he stepped into the plain corridor beyond it, so far removed from the eye-watering ornamentation that covered every inch that the public would ever see of the theatre.

"Here," said Laurent, "take this." He handed Damen his suit jacket, even though it wasn't quite warm enough to go without it. He just liked to make Damen carry his things, Damen suspected.

"I thought we were meeting Jord out the front?" he said as they made their way down the nondescript metal staircase and out through a side door.

"Don't be stupid."

The alley they found themselves in was empty save for a pair of Veretian guards, stood a little way from the door with their backs turned as they snuck a cigarette. Damen and Laurent slithered out of sight before either of them could return to their post. Laurent would be sure to make them regret the oversight in the morning. Or possibly promote them for it.

It was an old routine by now, slipping away from their guard to explore together, but Damen never grew tired of it. The exhilaration of being free in the city, whether it was Arles or Ios, or the ceremonial meeting point of the two nations in Marlas, where the last battle of the war had been fought, was one that Damen had not yet found a match for. Though he had to admit, the press of Laurent's body against his own, even after more than two years of getting to enjoy it, still came close.

Farther down the street Damen could see the bright lights of the front of the theatre, the flash of cameras, the noise of the crowds waiting outside loud enough to compete with the traffic around them. Laurent led them in the opposite direction. As they walked he removed his bow tie and rolled up his sleeves, transforming himself from the expensively-attired Prince of Vere sneaking away from a very public engagement to any one of the countless young, attractive men out enjoying a night on the town. The effect was surprisingly convincing.

He came to a stop a few streets away from the theatre and hailed a cab. Looking the way he did, it wasn't long before one stopped.

"How much to the Ambassador Hotel?" Laurent said, as if he had any concerns about money.

"Twenty-six."

Laurent glanced back at Damen. "It's your turn."

"It always is," he replied with a smile to match Laurents tone, and they climbed inside.

"If you don't mind my saying," said the cab driver, after several quiet minutes weaving through the traffic, "you're a dead ringer for Prince Laurent."

"So they tell me," Laurent replied absently. His face gave nothing away. It never did. Damen tried to school his own in turn, but he needn't have bothered. The driver wasn't paying him any attention.

"You an impersonator?"

"Something like that." He met Damen's sly smile with a look that told him to either keep quiet or play along before looking at the driver again, cocking his head to the side the way Damen had seen too many Veretian pets show themselves off. "What do you think of my accent?"

"Sounds decent enough to me. You're not from Arles?"

"Alier."

"Really? I have family down in Alier."

Laurents eyes flashed in panic for the briefest of moments. "Of course, we moved on when I was young. I barely remember it now."

"Not much work for the Prince of Vere down there, I suppose."

"Exactly," replied Laurent. He wore a private kind of a smile, though it was easy enough for Damen to decipher. There might not have been many official reasons for Laurent to spend time in Alier, but he and Damen still found their way there often enough. Laurent's personal estate at Aquitart made the perfect getaway, hidden from prying eyes.

They pulled up outside the hotel, the doorman already stepping forward to open the car door for them. Damen and Laurent were probably the only people to arrive in a cab rather than a town car. As they slid from the back seat under the vast awning that led to the hotel doors, the driver rolled down his window and turned to Laurent. "There's money enough in your line of work to stay at the Ambassador?" he said.

"During a royal visit from Akielos there is."

"You know, people have said I look like the Crown Prince."

Damen raised his eyebrows, and immediately turned his head to hide his expression. Auguste was sure to be less than flattered by that comparison. No doubt Laurent would take great pleasure in relaying the story to him.

"I think you'd make a great Crown Prince." He turned without looking back at either the driver or Damen. "Pay the man, dear."

Damen plucked Laurent's wallet from the jacket he was still carrying and handed over a hundred sol note. "Keep the change," he said, and left the man sputtering in his cab to follow Laurent up to the front desk.

Laurent leant a casual elbow on the counter while they waited for the clerk to finish her typing and glance up at him. She didn't look surprised to find the Prince of Vere stood before her, even with the heir to the Akielon throne at his side. "Sirs," she said, without Laurent saying a word, and withdrew a key card from the drawer. "It's all ready for you. Enjoy your night."

"Thank you," said Laurent.

At this time of night, the lobby was quiet enough for them to pass through unnoticed, the only other guests sat hunched over their laptops still hard at work or sipping cocktails in the hotel bar, too far away to recognise the two of them. Of course, if they had contacted the hotel ahead of time, the staff would have been more than willing to spirit them up to their suite in private, though Laurent wasn't one for divulging his plans. And famous faces were a common enough sight here that no-one paid any particular attention to who was walking past them. It was the perfect place in Arles to be overlooked.

The moment they were inside their room, Laurent's arms were around Damen's shoulders, and they shared a kiss that felt like home. Damen tossed Laurent's jacket in the vague direction of the couch and wound his arms around Laurent's back to hold him close. No matter how long they were parted, it was always too long.

"I've wanted to do that since this morning," said Laurent, drunk on satisfaction, when he pulled back from Damen's lips.

"You're welcome to do it again."

He didn't need convincing.

Damen's hands slid down to Laurent's hips as they kissed again, following Laurent's movements as he began to writhe against Damen's body. Usually, Laurent preferred to draw this out, would buck and groan as Damen took him apart piece by piece, letting him savour every moment of it, but not on nights like this. On nights like this, when they had been parted for weeks or more, they had lost time to make up for.

He let his lips trail from Laurent's, across his sharp jawbone, lingering for a second at the spot just underneath Laurent's jaw that made his breath hitch and his hands scrabble for purchase on Damen's skin, before he sank lower. His lips left an open-mouthed trail down the side of Laurent's neck.

"Not where it'll show," said Laurent, though he did nothing to remove himself from Damen's embrace. He was still moving against him, and already his voice had lost its usual edge. If Damen kept this up he could undo Laurent completely. "You'll start another war if people find out Crown Prince Damianos has been defiling Vere's youngest prince."

"And what if I asked you to marry me first?"

"Your father would never allow it." His hands fisted in Damen's hair and he pulled Damen in for another deep kiss on the mouth. He steered them backwards across the suite into the bedroom, a move honed by frequent practice. "You have heirs to produce, remember?"

They dropped down blindly onto the bed, sinking into the feather-soft mattress that provided an exquisite night's sleep but made more adventurous bouts of lovemaking something of a challenge, hands working at one another's clothes until they were pressed skin to skin. Laurent moaned against him when Damen reached down to cup his ass in his hands. His erection throbbed where it was pressed to Damen's skin. He had probably not even allowed himself the pleasure of his own hand since he had left Isthima, judging by his response to even the simplest touch now. The thought of it, Laurent lying hard and alone in his own bed yet resisting the urge to do anything about it, set Damen's blood alight. He'd make Laurent's patience worth it.

"I want your mouth," murmured Laurent.

Damen would readily oblige, anywhere and everywhere he could ever press his lips to Laurent's sweet skin. But Laurent's meaning was clear, if not from his words then the spreading of his thighs beneath Damen's weight, the press of his hips upwards as if he could fuck the air itself. Damen slithered down the length of his body towards Laurent's waiting cock, and licked his lips.

"Not like that," he said, before Damen could move any closer to his target.

Damen blinked in response. Had he misunderstood? Laurent did have a habit of turning him in circles, but he was a different creature entirely once they moved to the bedroom.

He moved back to rest on his knees. Laurent shifted into the centre of the oversized mattress and positioned himself, feet stretched out on one side of the bed, his head hanging off the other. It hardly looked like a comfortable position for this. But when Damen shot Laurent a curious look, he reached out a hand and pulled Damen to his feet. And as Laurent manoeuvred him into place, Damen understood.

There was a resolutely unabashed look on Laurent's face when Damen peered down at him between his legs. "I never said I didn't want you, too," he said.

"You've been spending too much time at the theatre," said Damen, even as he lowered himself over Laurent's body and peppered kisses across his belly. It quivered beneath his lips as he moved closer to Laurent's cock.

"If you aren't feeling adventurous you're welcome to stop. We can do it face down in the dark, like good Akielons do."

"That's not how we do it."

"Prove it."

Damen took Laurent into his mouth. He sank down in one smooth, practised slide, until he had to swallow back the need to gag, and enjoyed the swell of triumph in his chest at the sound of Laurent's gasp, at the feel of his fingers clutching at Damen's thighs.

It wasn't often that Damen managed to catch Laurent off-guard.

He recovered quickly, however, dragging a wet line with his tongue down the length of Damen's cock before returning to the head, and Damen wondered how either of them were supposed to focus on their own tasks with the other's mouth on them. The moment Laurent's tongue had touched him Damen's concentration had faltered, and was only just returning to him when Laurent decided teasing was the best course of action.

His whole body went tight as Laurent's tongue fluttered against him, too light a touch to do anything but infuriate, over every spot he knew was particularly sensitive. It was all Damen could do to keep his legs from buckling and his entire weight dropping onto Laurent. It would be a fitting punishment for Laurent's maddening approach to sucking cock, he supposed.

A sudden thrust from Laurent, and Damen was forcibly reminded of Laurent's presence inside him. He coughed and resumed the slow bob of his head, and after another brutal age of teasing Damen until his toes were curling in the plush carpet and he cursed himself for having ever looked twice in Laurent's direction, Laurent let Damen's cock slide into the welcoming embrace of his mouth. His movements fell into time with Damen's. Even their moans seemed coordinated to Damen's ears. He understood the appeal of this now, to give and receive at once as true equals, and his hands smoothed over the warm skin of Laurent's thighs as if he could make every part of Laurent feel just as good.

From the noises Laurent was making around Damen's cock, it was working.

Damen's jaw burned and ached, but the heat pooling behind his navel at the feel of Laurent on his tongue, and Laurent's tongue on him, was enough to distract him. He'd spend hours like this if he could, just to hear Laurent's soft keens, to feel his hands clutching at Damen's ass to try and pull him deeper.

Beneath him, the sounds from Laurent shifted into something more urgent, his thighs in Damen's grasp tensing, and Damen closed his eyes in anticipation, waiting for the moment the tension broke. It took only seconds. Laurent bucked, muscles spasming, and then all Damen could taste was him. He swallowed it down like he never wanted to taste anything else.

As if it was contagious, Damen's own orgasm came soon after, and he let himself collapse on top of Laurent. If he didn't like it, he would have no hesitation in shoving Damen off of him. But instead, Laurent's palms went to the small of Damen's back and rubbed at him, a comforting touch that Damen matched on whatever skin of Laurent's that he could reach. As much as he enjoyed making love to Laurent — and honestly, he couldn't think of anything he'd rather spend his days doing, given the choice — this part came a close second, feeling Laurent bare and perfect beneath his palms, curled against his body in the serene lull that always followed intimacy.

"What if I don't care what my father thinks?" Damen said, apropos of nothing, once they had crawled back up to the head of the bed and Laurent had made a pillow of Damen's chest. He had been gazing up at the ceiling as the thought had returned to him, but now he braved to peer down at Laurent gazing back at him.

"Then I would wonder how an imposter managed to find his way into my bed. You aren't seriously thinking about this?"

"Why not?"

"'Why not?' Because you're the heir to the throne. There are different rules for you."

"Laurent," said Damen, and he was smiling now, the idea embedding itself into his core and refusing to be pried loose. "When have you ever cared about other people's rules?"

Laurent struggled to suppress his smile as he met Damen's eyes. Given how adept he usually was at maintaining a mask of composure at all times, this had to have meant something to him, as much as it did to Damen.

"Promise me you'll think about it."

"All right," said Laurent. "I'll think about it."

They settled back on the mattress together, Laurent's cheek pressed warm and soft to Damen's chest, content to doze a little before they'd need to make their way back to the palace. With anticipation coursing through his veins like adrenaline, there was no chance of sleep catching Damen, and he gazed down at Laurent resting on him with a triumphant grin.


	16. On the Floor [Ancel/Berenger, Post-canon]

Berenger didn't even look up when Ancel threw open the library doors without bothering to knock. He had never done it before, so why start now? Especially when he didn't manage to pull as much as a blink of surprise from Berenger.

"What can I do for you, Ancel?" he said, still staring down at the papers on his desk.

This just wouldn't do. Not after the effort Ancel had put in. He stormed across the room and snatched the papers from beneath Berenger's hands, and finally, Berenger looked up at him.

His eyes flicked over Ancel, taking in the plain, loosely-tied undershirt he was wearing, the lack of jewellery, his hair tied back with a simple ribbon. A smile spread across his lips, and he met Ancel's eyes again.

"You want something."

Damn. Was he really so transparent? He had hoped Berenger would take some enjoyment in Ancel's appearance before wondering what motivations he might have for putting in so much effort to look effortless. At least he seemed amused by Ancel's display, he supposed.

"I always want something from you," replied Ancel, injecting every ounce of silky temptation into his voice as he could muster. "You've been cooped up in here too long."

"It's barely noon."

"Yes; the perfect time to take a break. Let's take a walk through the gardens."

Berenger sat back in his chair and looked up at Ancel strangely. Between Ancel's appearance and this suggestion, he was perhaps worried that Ancel had fallen victim to some kind of illness. "You hate the gardens."

"I don't hate the gardens."

"The flowers make you sneeze and there are no outdoor baths for the summer months," said Berenger. "I believe those were your latest criticisms."

Ancel pouted. But he knew Berenger well enough now to know drawing him away from his boring work wouldn't be easy; he still had a trick or two up his unembellished sleeves. "Fine," he huffed, folding his arms across his chest and pushing his bottom lip out farther, hopefully far enough for Berenger to start thinking about tasting it. "I want to fuck in them."

From the look on Berenger's face, the smile he was trying to stifle, and his refusal to hold Ancel's steadfast gaze, Ancel could tell he was thinking about it.

"Will you give me back those letters if I agree?"

Ancel tossed them back onto the desk, and turned on his heel towards the doors. "Are you coming, then?"

Hand in hand they walked through the vast gardens, Ancel pulling Berenger on whenever his pace slowed to a leisurely stroll, and Berenger laughing at Ancel's impatience. "Perhaps you would be happier if I left you to get on with it at your own pace?" he said, when Ancel tugged at his wrist to keep him moving once more. They were almost to their destination.

"You're the one who would rather be writing dull letters to even duller people all day," replied Ancel. "I'm being efficient."

"It would have perhaps been more efficient to stop ten minutes ago rather than walk all this way to find the right spot."

"Shut up," Ancel said, and he steered them between a pair of trees to a small clearing surrounded by rose bushes. "We're here."

Berenger took in the sight before him with the first look of surprise Ancel had earned from him in some time. On the floor were spread blankets and pillows, a small collection of baskets filled with the best the kitchens had to offer sat atop them. It was more food than the two of them could possibly eat in one sitting, but Ancel wanted to make sure they had every option available to them, even if he knew Berenger would go straight for the bread and cheese.

"Ancel, what is all this?"

Ancel shrugged. It was a little late now to feign aloofness, with the evidence that he thought Berenger was worth the effort right there in front of them, but he'd try it regardless. "I wanted to do something nice for you," he said. "You've been gone so much lately."

"The King needs me."

"I know. And I'm glad he's not forgotten about you now that the throne is his." Ancel turned back to face Berenger, reaching forward to take Berenger's other hand in his. "But I miss you."

Berenger smiled, slow and warm. "I miss you, too. The court is not nearly as interesting without you there."

On another day, Ancel might have pointed out that it was at Berenger's insistence that Ancel had remained here in Varenne, where the only potential dangers were being crushed beneath toppling stacks of thick, musty books, or succumbing to death by boredom. But he was in high spirits, and another lecture from Berenger on the volatility of the Veretian court at the moment would only serve to bring them crashing back down.

Berenger had promised that once King Laurent's rule was secure and any sparks of dissidence extinguished, he would bring Ancel with him to Arles, and Ancel planned to hold him to that promise.

"You didn't bring me out here for sex at all, did you?" said Berenger.

"We still could, if you wanted to."

"Let's settle for eating first, shall we?" Still clutching Ancel's hand with the same kind of reverence he offered to the ancient texts in his library, Berenger led them down onto the blankets. Sure enough, he went straight for the first bread roll he came across.

At least Ancel was brave enough to sample the rest of the feast — though, granted, he had selected the kinds of decadent cakes and pastries for which he had a fondness — and as they ate Berenger divulged the details of his latest trip to the capital. The moment he began to speak Ancel braced himself for a run-down of trade discussions and lawmaking, emptying his cup of wine and pouring himself another, but to his surprise, it didn't come. Instead, the information Berenger offered revolved entirely around the gossip of the court: which lords and ladies had bought which pets' contracts; the scandal surrounding the Regent's trial and execution; the suspicion and curiosity at the King's relationship with Damianos the prince-killer.

Ancel grinned back at Berenger, the two of them sprawled out on the blankets under the early afternoon sunshine, propped up on one elbow and gazing at one another. "It must have pained you to discover all of this," he said.

"The things I do for you." He reached into the basket above them, fumbling blindly through its contents until a frown creased his dark brows. It was a rare sight these days, though not as rare as Ancel would have preferred. "What's this?" he said, and withdrew his hand.

Within it was a small glass vial. Berenger didn't need to ask what was inside it. He shot Ancel a dubious look, with a trace of amusement lurking beneath it, if Ancel wasn't mistaken. "I thought you didn't bring me out here for sex?"

"I didn't. But I like to be prepared for all eventualities."

"Is sex always an eventuality for you?"

"Well…" Ancel pressed a hand to Berenger's chest to push him onto his back, and followed, straddling his waist. He leant down until his face was mere inches from Berenger's, close enough to kiss, and plucked the vial from Berenger's hand. "Tell me you don't want to."

Berenger kissed him. It was growing easier to break down his defences over time; some days all Ancel had to do was bat his eyelashes or position his body just so in front of Berenger for him to scoop Ancel into his arms and take him to bed. He would almost miss the challenge, if not for the days like today, when Berenger's work provided ample competition.

As their kiss deepened, Ancel let his hips fall to Berenger's, rolling against him, tempting his blood downwards. This would have been easier had Ancel been wearing the loose, silky robes he preferred, and not the plain trousers and shirt that made him look like Berenger, but Berenger's hands were setting out a course of their own, sliding from Ancel's back to his circling hips and down between their bodies for the laces of Ancel's trousers. He was more eager to do his share of the work than any of the other men Ancel had fucked.

They undressed one another without preamble. Most of the time Ancel liked to make a show of it, to pull at the laces of Berenger's clothes one by one, a seduction on top of a seduction. Not today. Today the ugly brown jacket hiding his lover's perfect body felt as though a personal insult, and Ancel wanted to cast it aside as fast as possible. And it seemed the growing ache inside Ancel's body was one shared; the moment Ancel was bare on top of him, Berenger's fingers slipped to their rightful place between Ancel's legs.

Berenger pulled back to look up at him with raised brows.

"I told you," Ancel said, grinning. "All eventualities."

He unstoppered the vial and emptied its contents into his palm, reaching between their bodies for Berenger's cock. It was warm and thick in his hand, and Ancel stroked it for far longer than was really necessary, until Berenger was gasping and bucking beneath him. Anyone else would have already rolled Ancel over and mounted, but not Berenger. Berenger would wait, despite his own needs, for as long as Ancel made him.

He was feeling kind today. He guided the head of Berenger's cock to his entrance and sank down.

"You have to admit," Ancel said, "this is better than sitting in that stuffy old library, isn't it?"

Berenger smiled. "Perhaps," he replied, and his hands moved to Ancel's hips, steering his movements as Ancel started rocking against him.

"Tell me more about the palace."

"You have a strange sense of bed talk."

Ancel splayed his hands across Berenger's chest, pressing him down against the blankets. He could feel Berenger all the way inside him now, and somehow part of him still wanted more. If they could be entwined together like this for eternity, he'd seriously consider it. He liked when Berenger's attention was on nothing but him.

"We aren't in bed," said Ancel, and Berenger rolled his eyes in response, but he obliged Ancel. He always did, in the end.

"There are to be no more ring displays," Berenger started.

Ancel's movements came to a sudden halt. "None at all?" he said, ignoring Berenger's soft, perhaps involuntary, noise of protest.

"You sound disappointed." His voice was hoarser than usual, the way he always began to sound when his arousal overcame him. That sound should have been a hint for Ancel to resume his undulations, but as he was so often good at, Berenger had distracted him from thoughts of fucking.

"I liked performing in the ring."

"Yes, I remember."

Ancel grinned as he leant forward. He flicked his tongue over the shell of Berenger's ear. "You didn't enjoy it even a little?"

Berenger's arms came to wrap around Ancel's back, keeping him in place so close against Berenger's body. An overwhelming urge to bury his face in Berenger's neck and nuzzle came over him.

"I much prefer you like this," replied Berenger, and he pressed a soft kiss to Ancel's cheek. He pushed his hips up against Ancel's, and they were soon resuming their original pace, Ancel straightening for better leverage as their thrusts began to take on a life of their own.

With the two of them wrapped together, lost in their own private world, Ancel found himself agreeing. Silently, of course. Berenger would start beaming like a fool if Ancel ever admitted such out loud.

He might have been a little distracted in that moment, though.

For one usually wound so tight, Berenger came apart in the most spectacular way. His mouth dropped open in a deep groan, fingers digging hard enough into Ancel's skin that they were surely going to leave dark bruises, and his hips snapped upwards while he emptied himself as if he had lost control of them completely. Had it not been for his years of practice, Ancel might have been bucked off already.

Even while Berenger was still lost in the bliss of his climax, Ancel took his hand and guided it to his cock. His own hands were too soft, too delicate, for this now he was used to Berenger's touch on him. He steered Berenger's hand just how he wanted it as he rode the last traces of life from Berenger's cock, the familiar tension creeping outwards from his lower belly, ready to snap. Ancel cried out when it did, and he was staining Berenger's stomach with his release, Berenger talking him through it with tender encouragement.

Ancel wasn't sure he would ever truly get used to this part, his own climax being not only tolerated but anticipated, celebrated even, as important a part of his and Berenger's lovemaking as any other. He let Berenger pull him down into an embrace, and closed his eyes as Berenger peppered his lips with soft kisses. Once the high of his orgasm wore off it would take with it Ancel's tolerance for this kind of quiet tenderness, so he'd make the most of it while it lasted.

It was another few lazy minutes before Ancel pulled away from Berenger and dropped onto his side beside him. He wiped them both clean on Berenger's jacket. The thought of Berenger's reaction when he noticed brought a wide grin to Ancel's face.


	17. Sweet and Passionate [Damen/Laurent, Post-canon]

It had been just short, blissful months since Laurent and Damen had found a way to be together. In that time Damen could count the nights of restful sleep he had had on his fingers. With one hand tied behind his back. Where he had once spent his nights awake educating Laurent on Akielon tactics and customs, on the unfamiliar territory they were soon to embark across, now it was in more physical concerns that Damen had turned tutor. Laurent had much to learn still about the acts of love, and he was as eager a student as Damen was an instructor.

The nights they spent burying themselves inside each other were preferable to the other nights Damen lay awake because of Laurent. Laurent slept sprawled out across the mattress in the manner of one who had never had to share it before, leaving Damen kicked and prodded and strongly considering resting himself on top of Laurent's narrow frame to keep him still by force.

It was as such tonight. He had been woken by a sharp jut of an elbow into his ribs, and kept awake by Laurent's frequent tossing and turning beside him. Finally he turned to gaze over at Laurent.

Even in the darkness he could see the distress on Laurent's face, and Damen realised that no, this was not like the other nights.

"Laurent," he said, reaching out for Laurent's shoulder and feeling him jerk violently beneath him, "wake up."

Damen gave him a gentle shake, and Laurent's eyes snapped open. He was breathing heavily. He blinked a few times in the darkness, looking around to try and orient himself, as the realisation slowly seemed to sink in that whatever dreams had visited him were dreams and nothing more. He sat up, and Damen lit the candle beside the bed to cast the room in a comforting glow before he followed.

"What is it?" said Damen. He curled one hand around Laurent's, the fingers of the other brushing Laurent's cheekbone, a reminder that Laurent was there with him, and nothing could touch them in this room.

Laurent shook his head to dismiss the subject, though beneath Damen's fingers on his wrist, Laurent's pulse was still racing. "I dreamt of Marlas," he said, and his eyes slipped from Damen as if he could not bear to meet his gaze. "Of Auguste."

The words hit Damen like a blow to the chest. Their past was something they could never truly be free from, even if those old wounds had healed. It would always linger between them. "I'm sorry." He moved to withdraw his hand from Laurent's cheek, but Laurent caught it before he could pull away.

"Don't," he said, voice soft, and he looked back at Damen again. "Don't. I want you here."

He pressed his lips to Damen's. There was a sense of desperation in his kiss that made Damen ache, but he didn't push Laurent away. Laurent had his own methods of dealing with the pain of Marlas; if this was how he sought to comfort himself now, Damen owed it to Laurent to let him. He opened his mouth for Laurent's tongue to slip in and brush his own.

They fell back amidst the scattered pillows and Laurent pulled Damen on top of him, his hands tangling in Damen's hair as Laurent pushed his hips up against him. He was quickly growing hard. As if the feel of Laurent's arousal served as permission, Damen's body began to respond in kind, and soon they were rocking against one another, holding each other tight. Everything they had been through, all the pain they had caused one another, it had all led them here. They could both wish things had been different, and perhaps things could have been, but they had to appreciate that they had made it to this point, healed and happy and looking to the future instead of the past. This was the better outcome than destroying one another.

Laurent reached a keen hand between them for Damen's cock. Damen gasped at the touch.

"Laurent," he breathed, and Laurent snatched at his bottom lip with his teeth, claiming it before Damen could again put it to any use that wasn't kissing him. Laurent was on top of him now, and moving with intensity enough that just the insistent rub of his cock against Damen's could easily see Damen to climax.

Sometimes, that was enough. Not tonight, though. Tonight, Damen wanted all of Laurent, body and mind and soul. He wanted to feel it as if it was the first time.

He rolled them over again, and pulled back to peer down at Laurent, his hair fanned out around his head like a halo of gold. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," said Laurent. He spread his legs, an invitation for Damen to slide between them.

Damen reached for the oil still left out after their earlier lovemaking and quickly coated himself. Before he could slip his wet fingers between Laurent's thighs, Laurent caught him by the wrist.

"You don't need to."

The truth was, Damen simply liked to. But he let Laurent steer him back down over Laurent's body, and as they kissed again Damen sank into him. He moved slower than was necessary, giving Laurent ample time to adjust to the feel of him inside despite the fact that Laurent was no stranger to the sensation by now. It probably wasn't what Laurent needed — any trace of sympathy or caution on Damen's part would no doubt only serve to remind him of what he was trying to forget — but Damen couldn't help himself. He would soon lose his slow pace when the blood coursing hot and fast through him overcame his rational thought.

It seemed Laurent was keen for that to happen sooner rather than later. He rocked beneath Damen, hands on Damen's rump pulling him closer, deeper, until, once Damen had begun to sink into the pace Laurent was setting out against him, Laurent pushed him away.

"Wait," he said.

Heart pounding, Damen sat back on the bed. This had probably been a bad idea to start with, the last thing Laurent needed with the memories of that awful day so fresh in his mind. But as Damen watched, waiting for Laurent to recoil, Laurent instead climbed to his knees. He moved forward and straddled Damen's lap.

"Oh," breathed Damen, and Laurent smiled back down at him.

He could press deeper inside like this. His mouth fell open as Laurent slipped down and down onto his lap, hands clasping at Damen's knees to best angle himself, and Damen let his own palms slide up the planes of Laurent's bare torso. They travelled everywhere over him as Laurent resumed their pace.

Perhaps this was what Laurent needed, to remember Damen as he had come to know him, not as he had seen him at Marlas; to remember what they now shared. Certainly for Damen, when he would feel the rare twinge of pain in his back his first instinct was not to turn from Laurent, but to pull him into his arms and force his thoughts towards Laurent's smile, his devastating wit, the brush of his lips on Damen's skin.

Laurent's hands came to cup Damen's face, his eyes unblinking as they stared deep into Damen's. "You know all you are to me," he said.

"I know." Damen kissed one palm, then the other, then the delicate inner skin of Laurent's wrists. His own hands were gripping tight at Laurent's hips like he never wanted to let go. He wasn't sure he did.

He met Laurent's lips again, and pulled Laurent flush against his chest, his arms wrapped around Laurent's back. There was barely room between them for Laurent to move in Damen's lap, so he settled for circling his hips with Damen's, grinding down into him, each of them moaning into the other's mouths with every press of Damen's cock against Laurent's insides. Warm, sticky wetness leaked against Damen's stomach. He smiled into Laurent's skin at the feel of it, the knowledge that Laurent was coming apart as easily as Damen was himself.

He'd not dare separate to fit his fist around Laurent's cock within the hot press of their bodies, but he slipped his hand in just enough to brush his fingers over the head, to feel Laurent buck and groan in his arms. The sound was worth more than Damen deserved.

"Laurent," he breathed, as if he could condense his every thought and feeling into those two syllables.

That was the last push Laurent needed. He was tensing, spasming, his head thrown back towards the heavens and his body a vice. With the sweetest moan Damen had ever heard Laurent was coming, and the feel of him squeezing around Damen, the sight of him in the throes of bliss, was enough to bring Damen to his climax as well.

When Laurent deflated in the wake of his pleasure, it was into Damen's waiting arms. He buried his face in the crook of Damen's neck, his breath too hot on Damen's skin, though Damen wasn't about to displace him.

"Are you all right?" Damen said, softly, and pressed his lips to the side of Laurent's neck, his hands rubbing delicate circles up and down Laurent's spine.

Laurent looked up at him again with a soft, wonderful smile. "I am now."


	18. Role Play [Damen/Laurent, Post-canon]

The council room in Arles was in a sorry state. Its marbled walls had been stripped of their tapestries and banners, the deep red carpet Laurent had spent dreadful hours stood upon torn up to reveal the bare stone beneath, the candles unlit and unneeded. It was an improvement. Laurent wasn't sure he had ever seen such an abomination as the red banners of the regency adorning the walls and his uncle sat in the throne that had once belonged to his father.

That throne was a shell now, its sumptuous maroon cushions ripped out with the other unpleasant reminders of Laurent's uncle — the Veretian court's attempt to simply forget he had ever existed by force of will.

Part of Laurent wished he could do the same.

He looked around the room as if he could see it as it had once been, his father's colours filling the room with life, yet the image in his mind had faded with time and grown hard to replicate. Laurent shook his head. The blue starburst already flew from the rooftops of the palace; it would hang from these walls again soon enough.

A tiny, inadvertent sound from behind Laurent, and he smiled. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough," replied Damen. His voice was ample to fill the room with the warmth it had been missing for so long.

"Are you sure you want to set foot in this room," Laurent said as he heard the shuffle of Damen's feet on the naked stone, "with all the unpleasant memories it holds?"

There was unlikely to be a single room in the palace that didn't contain such, for Damen. Guilt stabbed Laurent's gut like a knife blade at the thought of how many of those torments had been at his own hands. If he had known then what he knew now... he was not sure that he would have ever believed it.

Damen came to a stop at Laurent's side and eyed the throne, the same way Laurent had done so many times in recent weeks. As if he could still see the Regent sat upon it. He looked back at Laurent. "We'll make our own memories," he said.

Laurent smiled again, and let his own gaze drift back towards the throne. He forced his uncle from his mind. There was no place for him within these walls now. "It seemed so much bigger, when my father would let me sit on it as a boy."

"You've not tried it since?"

"No."

"Well," Damen said, craning his neck to peer at the doors behind them before catching Laurent's eye again with a conspiratorial look glittering in his own, "I won't tell if you won't. It is yours, by right."

Something strange filled Laurent's chest while he stepped towards the throne; trepidation, perhaps, or simply the full weight of the moment settling over him, the knowledge that six years of hell, of deception and betrayal and treason, had ended with him stood here, waiting to take his throne.

He took a seat.

Damen was beaming back at him. "It suits you," he said, and he came to stand before Laurent like a loyal subject.

"Because we are both in no fit state for kingship?"

"You are already a king," said Damen, his expression soft but his voice firm. As if to demonstrate that fact, he sank, slowly and with deliberate care, to one knee, and dipped his head.

It was by no means the first time Damen had knelt before him, yet it seemed so much different this time, and Laurent shifted awkwardly in his seat, unsure of how best to react. "You don't have to do that."

"I want to." He looked up at Laurent with a smile and placed a warm, firm hand on Laurent's knee. "You deserve it. And more."

At those last words Damen's voice dropped, the way it did when his thoughts turned far from kingship, and his hand moved from Laurent's knee. It inched its way up his thigh, and Laurent had to force himself to breathe. He could feel the heat creeping to his cheeks. This was hardly an appropriate use for the royal throne. Yet that knowledge did nothing to keep Laurent's body from reacting to the touch.

"Do you want me to stop?" said Damen. He spoke as if he already knew the answer.

Internally, Laurent cursed his own embarrassing lack of willpower when it came to Damen. "No."

Damen grinned, bright and easy as everything came to him. In some ways it was difficult to imagine that Damen could stand as a king with such a youthful, carefree look on his face. Yet at the same time Laurent could plainly see the type of king Damen would be: warm, and gentle, and open towards even the lowest of his subjects. It was the kind of king Auguste always would have made. If Laurent had any hope of honouring his rule, Damen's would be a fine example to follow.

Laurent reached down to cup Damen's face in his palm, and Damen brushed it with his lips, before he dipped his head again and let his mouth follow the trail his hand had set along the length of Laurent's thigh. He closed his eyes as Damen reached the apex of Laurent's thigh and began to massage at him through the fabric of his trousers, forcing all other thought from Laurent's mind. The touch did not offer much relief, though. Damen withdrew his hand after mere seconds.

But he was not done with Laurent yet. Instead, he tugged open the laces of Laurent's trousers and reached inside to pull him out into the still air of the room.

"My king," Damen breathed, and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the side of Laurent's swollen cock.

The reverence in his tone had Laurent struggling to suppress a gasp. At least if Damen heard him, he would think it a result of his lips on Laurent. If he knew the effect his unabashed, unwarranted pride in Laurent had on him, he would never stop letting those sweet words fall from his lips.

"And what would that make you?" replied Laurent, trying to steer his thoughts away from such things, away from the expression that would surely light up Damen's face when Laurent sat back in this throne as king, "my concubine?"

Damen looked up at Laurent with a twinkle of a smile in his eyes. His hand was still stroking slowly up and down Laurent's cock. "I'll be anything you want me to be."

Laurent didn't let himself smile until Damen was otherwise occupied sliding the tight ring of his lips down Laurent's shaft. He'd be quite happy for Damen to be King Damianos, sat at his side as an equal, adored by Akielons and Veretians alike.

"Or my pet, perhaps," he said, rather than put voice to his other fantasy. When the words caused Damen to lift his head again and leave Laurent's ever more interested cock neglected, however, he wished he had remained silent. His nails dug into the armrests at his sides, and he spread his legs as if it might tempt Damen back between them.

"I don't look quite as pretty covered in jewels as you do."

"You look beautiful in everything," said Laurent, while Damen thankfully returned to task, "and nothing."

Damen gave a slight groan at that, as if the thought had sparked something primal in him, and Laurent did his best not to gasp at the sensation of it vibrating down the length of his cock. Taking a moment to collect himself, he grinned at Damen's reaction, and continued.

"I would gift you the world, were you my pet."

This time when Damen pulled back he replaced his mouth with his hand, curling tight and skilful around Laurent while Damen stretched up to press a kiss to Laurent's lips.

"I thought pets earned gifts through service?" he said.

"They do. I would, of course, be a demanding master."

"Of course," said Damen. Then: "Tell me."

"What?"

"Command me as you would a pet."

"Damen…" Laurent said, yet before he could offer any objection, Damen peeled his hand from Laurent's cock and gave him a mischievous look which said in no uncertain terms that if Laurent wanted to feel Damen's touch again, he was going to have to play along.

This would be somewhat easier had he ever actually had a pet under contract. But he had seen plenty in the debauchery of the court, and he was not too innocent to extrapolate the rest.

"Suck it," he said. To his own ears, he sounded more confident than he felt.

"How?"

Laurent swallowed. The heat under his skin was growing. He was surely flushed a terrible shade by now, which would delight Damen to no end. "Slowly," he answered, forcing his eyes closed before he could bear witness to Damen's reaction. "Focus on the tip."

And with the eagerness of a pet seeking to prove why they were worth the price of their contract, Damen obliged. His lips were soft on the head of Laurent's cock, a kiss more than anything, and Laurent's own parted to let a ghost of a sigh free. The nights they spent like this, part of Laurent was given over entirely to monitoring Damen's reactions — how a certain kind of touch might make him gasp, which sensitive places Laurent could tease to make him buck in pleasure — and it seemed Damen had been doing the same. With only scant flicks of his tongue he had Laurent straining in his seat, biting at the inside of his cheek to try and maintain some trace of decorum.

Wasn't he supposed to be the one in control here?

With Damen, he feared, that had never been the case.

"Use your hand, too," he said, forcing a sense of cool aloofness into his voice that belied the mutiny taking place inside him, when they began to fall into a rhythm. "Faster than that."

Damen pulled back, his lips shining and eyes dark. Laurent couldn't see from this angle, but he was sure that Damen's own cock would be just as hard as Laurent's. His hand was still sliding up and down the length of him. "I thought you liked it slow."

"Am I not allowed to change my mind?"

"Yes, your majesty," said Damen, with a subservience to his tone that did not suit him. Even when he had been a slave, he had not been nearly this docile. Of course now his obedience was partnered with a healthy dose of teasing humour, glittering in his eyes and pulling at the corners of his mouth as he returned to task, but Laurent was in no mood to object to that.

He let his eyes fall closed once again and savoured the feel of Damen between his legs. This would be the talk of the court should anyone walk in on them now, though Laurent couldn't bring himself to care, and nor was he about to stop and relocate to their chambers. Besides, what he and Damen did or did not get up to in bed together — or out of it — had been all that those surrounding them had discussed since long before the two of them had even grown to tolerate one another. Laurent was used to it by now. And though he had never admitted it to Damen, he had been known to stoke the fires of court gossip himself with a few choice, absurd hints, whenever he grew weary of the latest subject of obsession.

"That's it," he said, as his body neared its peak and he had to fight to keep it from curling in on itself, though Damen showed no signs of slowing. "Damen. I'm not going to come in your mouth."

He had before, of course, numerous times, and Damen seemed to take his own pleasure in it, but as they were, Damen now a king, above Laurent in station, it felt too great a transgression. Really, he should not have even allowed Damen to get on his knees before him. But Damen could be stubborn as a mule when he wished, and Laurent's objections were not great enough for him to fight on such matters as his own pleasure.

Languorously, with obvious reluctance, Damen extricated himself from Laurent's tender cock and met his eyes again. "Do masters not come in their pets' mouths?"

"You are a king."

"Not at the moment."

" _Damen_ ," said Laurent, yet when Damen sank back down and took in as much of him as he could manage, Laurent found himself without the strength or desire to fight the issue. Damen sucked him until his body caught on the brink of pleasure and finally erupted. Afterwards, his hands continued to smooth over Laurent's skin as if to guide him back to himself. Even when he removed himself from Laurent's cock, his breathing as roughened and heavy as Laurent's own, his touch remained, like he was not yet ready to be parted from Laurent's body. Laurent's own hand fell to Damen's head resting in his lap, and they stayed curled like that for some time, until finally Damen climbed to his feet.

"Do you feel like a king yet?" he said, and offered out a hand to pull Laurent up from the throne.

"Not yet." He let Damen wrap a steadying arm around his hips and they walked towards the carved wooden doors together, but before they could slip back out to resume their duties, Laurent paused and gazed back at the barren throne. He eyed Damen with a smile. "Perhaps we'll have to revisit this after my coronation."


	19. Trying New Position [Pallas/Lazar, Canon-compliant]

Lazar stalked the length of his tent. It was small enough that he reached each side in only a few short steps, a world away from the frills and decoration of the Prince's tent, though it suited Lazar well enough. He didn't need much more than a bed anyway. For most of his life, he hadn't even had this much. He usually spent his nights in other people's beds, anyway.

He would have been doing the same tonight, were it not so much harder to take a stroll through the Akielon camp. The guard around Damen was constant and exacting. It was as if his men had never actually seen him fight, or didn't realise that many in the Veretian camp had and knew far better than to attempt an attack. There was an enticing challenge to the thought of it, though, slipping unawares into the camp to find Pallas' tent, but for tonight at least, he was forced to wait. And patience never had been his forte.

After enough circuits of his tent to make him dizzy, Lazar relented, and threw himself down onto his bed pallet. He drummed his fingers on his chest, bounced his heels against the ground, and cursed Pallas for the spell he must have cast over him to make Lazar so willing to wait for the relief of his touch, and to forego anyone else's. He had never spent so long visiting one man's bed in his life, yet the urge to move on to someone new showed no signs of growing within him. Each night spent driving himself into Pallas' supple body made him ache only for more.

Finally the soft rustle of tent flaps sounded over the noises of the camp, and Lazar sat upright. Pallas ducked into the tent with a smile.

"You took your time." He doubted Pallas would understand the words — and his own grip of Akielon was too pitiful to attempt to communicate in Pallas' tongue — but his tone was universal.

"The guards," answered Pallas, in his stilted Veretian that shouldn't have made Lazar feel nearly as fond as it did.

Lazar didn't give him time to say anything else. He was on his feet and pulling Pallas into a heady kiss fast enough that it caught Pallas off-guard. The small noise of surprise he made against Lazar's lips throbbed all the way through him. With a final open-mouthed kiss to Pallas' sharp jawbone, Lazar spun him and steered him over the table that was the only other piece of furniture in the tent, but before he could lift Pallas' skirts and push inside, Pallas caught him by the wrist.

"Wait," he said, and straightened. He pushed Lazar back with a strong hand to his chest, until his legs hit the pallet and he fell back. Pallas sank down after him, straddling his waist, and they kissed again.

Usually when they did this necessity demanded it be fast and efficient: simply bend Pallas over the nearest surface and push inside. Habit made it much the same when they did have the time to draw things out. But the sight of Pallas above him, pushing him back onto the mattress and taking charge, was sparking something within Lazar that he hadn't felt before. And when Pallas began working open Lazar's clothes with slow, talented fingers, Lazar found himself aching to feel them everywhere else as well.

He'd lay down good money that they could do wondrous things inside him.

But it seemed he wasn't going to find out tonight. Lazar was already hard when Pallas opened his trousers and pulled his cock out, and Pallas slipped down his body to take it into his mouth; a few perfect sucks, just enough for Lazar to close his eyes and begin rocking his hips with Pallas' movements, before he was pulling off and straightening again. The look on his face was enough to silence any objection Lazar might have made. That, and the erection tenting his chiton.

In one easy movement Pallas pulled at the pins holding his chiton at each shoulder, his other hand already on the ties at his waist, and the fabric tumbled to the ground. Neither of them bothered to pick it up. By the time Lazar was through with him, a crumpled chiton would be the last thing anyone noticed when Pallas returned to his own camp.

For an excruciatingly long moment Pallas simply stood, letting Lazar appreciate his naked form in the flickering lamplight, the fact of his arousal. The urge to reach out and touch cramped at his fingers, but Lazar forced himself still with a strength of resolve he hadn't known he possessed. He never had been one for denying himself in times like this. But clearly Pallas had his own plans, and something told Lazar he was going to like those so much better.

When he finally did move, it was to pick up one of the bottles of oil on the table, and Lazar's stomach clenched in anticipation. He gasped as Pallas straddled his legs once again and wrapped a cool, wet hand around his cock. Lazar moved his hips in time, letting Pallas stroke him for longer than was really necessary.

"Let me," he said, but when he reached for the bottle in Pallas' other hand, Pallas pulled it back and shook his head. He met Lazar's questioning look with a kiss, and soon gave Lazar his answer.

As he steered Lazar inside him, Lazar felt his jaw drop open. Pallas was already slick inside, and stretched enough for Lazar to slide in easily when Pallas sank down into his lap. He had to bite his lip as the images unfurled in his mind: Pallas sprawled out on his own bed, his fingers plunged deep inside himself; him walking through the Veretian camp towards Lazar's tent wet and ready like a pet about to compete in the ring.

"You…" gasped Lazar, though he wasn't sure what the end of that sentence was supposed to have been.

He clutched at Pallas' hips, helping guide him as he began to draw slow circles against Lazar's body. He was buried inside to the root, every inch of him delighting in the sensation of Pallas' heat surrounding him, the way he moved without pulling himself free of Lazar's cock.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Lazar was aware that he was still mostly dressed, yet he had no intention of telling Pallas to stop while he wrenched the rest of his clothes off. And Pallas hardly seemed to mind, grabbing fistfuls of Lazar's shirt as he rocked himself back and forth, the first desperate noises slipping from his lips. Whatever Pallas wanted from him, Lazar was strangely bound to oblige.

As much as part of him might have liked to lie back as he was and enjoy the view of Pallas fucking himself on his cock, Lazar pushed himself upright, one hand curled around Pallas' back to keep him in place and the other working its way into his hair and clutching tight. Pallas made a noise deep in his throat in response, and Lazar kissed his way down Pallas' neck as if he could find the source of the noise and set it loose. He scraped the smooth skin with his teeth, and Pallas' hips lurched against his. Perhaps they both enjoyed the thought of Pallas bearing the marks of this night for all to see.

To think, Lazar had once thought Pallas so sweetly innocent. He couldn't be sure if this newly revealed dominance was a gift only granted to those who had the honour of visiting his bed often enough, or the result of Lazar's influence. Either way, he was enjoying it. He never would have thought letting someone else do all the work could be quite so satisfying.

He let Pallas shove him back against the mattress with rough hands on his shoulders. They shared a grin, before Pallas sank forward to catch Lazar's mouth in a hungry kiss. He was moving faster against Lazar now, no rhythm to his movements in his obvious need for release, and Lazar rocked his own hips to match, his hands curling in Pallas' hair as his own climax brewed within him.

"Lazar," Pallas breathed, his voice rough, and Lazar groaned, arching up against Pallas' body as if there was some force drawing him closer. His name sounded so much better in Pallas' accent.

In that moment, he didn't ever want to hear anybody else say it.

He slipped his hand between their bodies to wrap around Pallas' cock as they writhed against one another with the lurching movements of rapidly approaching orgasm, and after only a few jerked twists of his hand Pallas was streaking Lazar's palm with his release. He continued to ride Lazar through it, his body clenching around Lazar's cock with each spasm that shook him, and Lazar was quick to join him. He emptied himself into Pallas' pliant body with a gasp, as if he was as new to pleasure as a plump-cheeked youth.

Perhaps that was the joy of fucking Akielons; they did things differently enough to make it all seem fresh and exciting. And Lazar was more than willing to discover what other treats lay in store.


	20. Morning Lazy Sex [Damen/Laurent, Canon compliant]

Consciousness came to him in fits and starts, a finger curling slowly, beckoning him. Damen did his best to ignore it. He squeezed his eyes shut tight against the resolute pale light of the early morning to slip back into sleep for a time; flung an arm across his eyes when next he woke, the world outside a fraction brighter through the thin skin of his eyelids; rolled onto his stomach and buried his face into the pillows when again he found the day insisting itself upon him, until the fact became inescapable that he was simply lying in bed with his eyes closed and proclaiming it sleep.

But Damen stayed in place a while longer. Waiting for his mind to catch up with the wakefulness of his body, Damen listened. Birdsong floated in from the courtyard outside — someone must have opened the shutters already, house staff preparing the room before Damen woke. The morning drills had not yet begun, if the birds were still sitting comfortably in their perches, undisturbed by barked orders and clashes of steel. But there was something else missing, besides the ugly grunts of the men and quiet shuffling of Damen's staff, something Damen couldn't quite identify. Its absence left an eerie silence in the room. He frowned when at last the realisation came to him that it was the sound of soft breathing beside him that was strangely absent.

With the strength of will of a man stood waist deep in the sea determined to fight its tides, Damen opened his eyes, and, blinking back the last remnants of sleep and their stubborn hold on him, pushed himself up to rest on his elbows. The room had not been touched by any of the household staff. There were clothes still in messy piles scattered across the floor where they had been recklessly discarded last night, goblets and plates of picked-at food not yet cleared away.

It was Laurent who had thrown open the shutters to one of the arched windows far across the bedroom, and he sat amidst its gentle glow, a light frown on his face as he stared down at the table in front of him.

"You're playing chess against yourself?"

Laurent blinked at the sound of Damen's voice and looked up at him with the expression of one surprised by some oversight on their part. Most mornings when Damen had the opportunity to wake at Laurent's side, he was still unable to, Laurent already awake and well into his preparations for the day, addressing Damen with a fond scolding in his voice as if Damen did not still keep the disciplined schedule of a soldier. Laurent must have been immersed in his game, to not notice Damen had awoken.

Whatever surprise he felt, though, it couldn't keep him from his game for long. His eyes were back on the board and his frown settling above them again when he spoke. "No-one else is a match for me."

Of course not. Laurent had the perfect kind of cunning to be well suited for the game. Even back in Vere, there were likely few so skilled in thinking in twists and turns to offer Laurent any real challenge.

Laurent's uncle would have been. For a moment Damen wondered if the two had ever played, in Laurent's youth, though at even that brief thought an unpleasant weight collected in Damen's gut. He focused instead on Laurent's face, the concentration as he made his move with the same careful planning he sent men into the field to face potential death, the way the warm light on him smoothed the sharpness of his features: a boy in front of him, with the mind of a king.

"Who's winning?" Damen said, and Laurent looked back up at him with a grin. In that smile was the other reason Laurent preferred playing this way; when he played against himself, he never had to lose, never had to give up control.

There was such a thing as too much control, though. And Damen had a few ideas about how to get Laurent to relinquish it.

"Come back to bed." He offered a hand out as if Laurent was close enough to accept it. "I might let you win."

Laurent eyed him, caught in a difficult choice between the mental and the physical. But, despite the suspicions of many of their men, almost all of the Akielon court, and even Damen himself at times, Laurent was only human. With a surrendering smile, he abandoned his game — physically, at least; Damen had no doubt that Laurent's mind would return to it given any opportunity, and challenged himself to not give him a moment to think of anything but what he wanted Damen to do to him — and slipped back into bed at Damen's side.

Damen pulled him in close the moment Laurent was within reach, like it was part of his own body coming back to him. They kissed, easy and unhurried; a slow exploration of one another with the lazy confidence that came from knowing every part of each other, knowing the joys and comforts that were to come and making their way to them without haste.

Laurent's body pressed more firmly against Damen's as his own began to rouse. He gave a small tug at the loose shirt Laurent had thrown on, and Laurent caught his hint, or perhaps was of the same mind himself. It was gone a moment later. Their hands were everywhere on one another, squeezing and caressing, raking through sleep-mussed hair, sliding down into the growing heat between them to brush over hardening flesh.

No words passed between them in the morning hush of the room. There was no need for them. Damen's lips slithered back up Laurent's collarbone, his neck, the pulse throbbing beneath his skin belying the stillness of Laurent's body, to catch Laurent's mouth in another slow kiss, and Laurent gave a small noise of satisfaction. The sound of it would have been lost had there been more than gentle birdsong floating through the open window, and Damen gave a silent thanks that he had woken before the morning's training. He'd not have missed that sweet sound for all the world.

They didn't bother with trying to penetrate each other, content to bring one another to their pleasure with hands and mouths. There were worse feelings in the world than the press of Laurent's cock nestled against his hip. Damen moved against him, barely more than a twitch of his groin on Laurent's, but it was all he could muster, and all they needed. Laurent groaned into Damen's mouth as they kissed again.

Afterwards, when their slow climb to pleasure had reached its zenith and they had curled, sated, against one another, Damen lay gazing up at the canopy as his sense gradually returned to him. At the sound of Laurent's breathing beginning to slow, Damen looked across to him. He was dozing at Damen's side. With a smile, Damen slipped from the bed, gentle so as not to disturb Laurent.

He crossed the room towards the table, and studied the board for a moment. Laurent's match was ruthlessly calculated, he could see that much at a glance. But he'd not caught everything.

Damen glanced back at Laurent's still sleeping form, and took a seat opposite the one Laurent had vacated. He picked up the single, forgotten tower left in play, and slid it into place.

He grinned to himself. "Checkmate," he said.


	21. Frottage [Damen/Laurent, Canon compliant]

The Vaskian encampment was a sprawling beast of tents filling the valley, alive with voices and activity. But there was a shadow in its midst. Slipping through the disorder of tents, Damen was silent, footsteps soft on the rocky ground, not so much as a breath leaving him. He was keenly aware that anybody wandering between the tents as he was would immediately recognise him and drag him back to the festivities.

Let it not be said that the Vaskians were anything but generous with their hospitality.

Damen ducked into his tent and, despite it being too small to hide someone out of sight, he looked around with a frown. There was no sign of Laurent. He had gone to speak with Halvik in private some time ago. When he had not returned to the campfire where Halvik's tribe and the clutch of soldiers he and Damen had brought with them were busy feasting and drinking, Damen had thought he would have instead come back to the relative quiet of their shared tent.

Perhaps he had been caught trying to slip away. The Vaskians would not rest until Laurent was participating enthusiastically with their revelries were that the case.

Absurdly, Damen's mind went for a moment to the coupling fire. He dismissed that thought with a laugh at himself, and not a small trace of relief. Halvik had made it clear she had no use for Laurent there.

A thud and a curse from outside, and the tent flaps parted. Damen arched his eyebrows as he watched Laurent shuffle inside. His face was flushed, and there was none of his usual clear-eyed sharpness when he looked up at Damen.

"How much have you had to drink?" said Damen, unable to restrain his smile. He didn't see Laurent like this often. He would be dreadful company in the morning, but for now Damen was going to enjoy it.

With unsteady steps so far removed from his usual grace Laurent came forward to meet Damen in the centre of the tent, and he dropped forward into Damen's chest without waiting to see if Damen would catch him. Luckily, Damen had sharp reflexes.

Laurent stretched up and kissed him. The harsh taste of Vaskian spirits was thick on his tongue. "Not much," he answered. "It was stronger than I had anticipated."

"Will you stay upright if I let go of you?"

"Probably."

He swayed in place a little when Damen dropped his hands, but otherwise he could support himself. Damen stepped away to pour Laurent some water. It was still cold from the mountain springs — cold enough to perhaps shock some of the haze from Laurent's mind. After taking a quenching, hopefully sobering, drink, Laurent looked down at himself.

Damen imagined he was regretting all those laces now.

"Help me," he said.

"You know," said Damen as he moved back towards Laurent and reached for the first ties at his neck, "I'm not your slave anymore. I could leave you to struggle with this yourself."

"But you wouldn't."

Damen pulled open Laurent's jacket, leaving him to attempt to free himself from its arms while Damen slid his hands down Laurent's stomach towards his trousers. Laurent's breath caught at the touch. If he was sober, he'd have thought to mask the sound. Damen allowed his hands to linger below Laurent's navel for a moment, for Laurent's pleasure as well as his own.

"You were gone longer than I thought you would be," said Damen.

"Halvik wanted you for the coupling fire. It took time to come to an agreeable alternative."

Damen smiled. "Jealous?"

As Damen's hands had moved over him, Laurent's eyes had fallen closed, unabashedly enjoying the sensation, and now he opened them again to meet Damen's gaze. They were clearer than they had been, the alcohol lifting enough to return his faculties, if not his inhibition.

"Would you have rather performed?" said Laurent. "I can speak to Halvik."

"You keep me well sated."

Laurent pulled back to point an elegant finger at him, as if to suggest Damen had come to a profound discovery which he would be wise to remember.

There was little hope of him forgetting.

"Come back here. I haven't finished." He opened Laurent's trousers, and knelt to help him step out of them. When he looked up, Laurent was gazing back down at him with a gentle, loving smile. He was softer around the edges when he was like this. Damen straightened, and Laurent clutched Damen's hand against his chest as he leaned forward for another kiss, this more insistent that the last. Even the coldest of men would have been powerless against it.

"It wasn't hakesh you were drinking, was it?" Damen said, only half joking, when their lips parted again. His blood settled some once the kiss had come to its end, though Laurent had still succeeded in riling him. And he was looking back at Damen like he wanted more.

"Perhaps I should fetch us some."

"I fear your attempts to breed me would be in vain."

"We could still find a use for it."

The way Laurent was moving his body against Damen's, a slow roll that was certainly deliberate, that wasn't going to be an issue. Damen's hands were on the small of Laurent's back and seeking out curves, and as they kissed again he pulled Laurent closer. It ended suddenly enough to leave Damen blinking and wondering just what had happened.

Laurent stepped back, head tilted towards the sounds of the camp. "Do you hear that?"

He could hear it. It was music — not the rhythmic throb encouraging couples to the fire, though the drumbeats were still there, pulsing beneath stringed instruments Damen wasn't sure he recognised.

A smile crept to Laurent's face, one none but Damen would be granted the privilege of witnessing: a private smile, eyes closed, of a man in sweet, quiet enjoyment. He swayed a little in Damen's arms, but this time it was not from the drink.

"I like it," he said. He opened his eyes and looked back up into Damen's. There was something dangerous glittering within them. Whatever idea had come to him, Damen wasn't sure he was going to like it.

With nothing more than a finger prodded to Damen's chest, Laurent pushed him backwards, until the backs of Damen's calves connected with the low bench at the edge of the tent and he dropped down onto it.

"Don't move."

"Laurent—"

But Laurent was already turning away from him, back to the discarded collection of his clothes on the floor. Damen's gaze fell when Laurent bent. His shirt was not long enough to cover everything. Heat surged beneath Damen's skin.

It was that distraction which kept him from noticing what Laurent had picked up before he was sidling back to Damen, twisting his sword belt between his hands in a way that suggested he had a very clear idea of what he was about to do with it. "Put your hands behind your back," said Laurent. His tone left little room for disobedience.

A small, reckless part of Damen wanted to; wanted to push Laurent's buttons, wanted to see what Laurent would do to him for refusing, but, as if by reflex, his hands were already clasping together behind him. He watched the grin spread across Laurent's face as he stepped closer, and felt his own cheeks tug to match. Nerves and anticipation tumbled and surged within his chest. Damen knew what was coming. He knew what had happened on all the other occasions he had found himself bound, too, yet there was nothing in Laurent's gaze but desire. There would be no pain coming this time.

Laurent placed a knee on either side of Damen, settling himself in Damen's lap, the backs of his bare thighs pressed warm against Damen's skin. Damen ached to sink between them. Moving close against Damen's chest, until his scent was all Damen could smell, Laurent reached behind him and secured the belt tight around Damen's wrists. A quick brush of his lips against Damen's, and he was up again.

His hips moved with the music.

"Did your slaves dance for you in Ios?" he said.

Damen knew where this was going. His eyes shuttered closed for a moment, as if it was too much to take in, too rare and unbelievable to let himself witness. Laurent must have still been drunk.

"Yes," said Damen. His cheeks burned with the admission, the memories of the dances he had watched — and what had inevitably followed — mingling in his mind with thoughts of Laurent. The music still coming from outside crept beneath his skin.

From the way Laurent's eyes had slipped closed and his body gone pliant in its rhythm, it was having the same effect on both of them. He began to move in time.

The way he danced was mesmerising: his every move sinuous, flowing freely yet at the same time calculated, as everything ever was when it came to Laurent. He danced like a whore — the way he slid a hand down himself how Damen itched to do the same; the way he rolled his hips to prompt a very deliberate reaction from Damen — but there was an elegance to his movements that only came from status and discipline. It was unexpected, to know Laurent could move like this, yet now, sat there watching him, Damen found it hard to believe this was something new to him. This was as natural as breathing to Laurent, as natural as the twists and turns in his conversation, the labyrinth of his mind.

"You are so easily enthralled?" Laurent said, his words pulling Damen back to reality. Not once did his undulating slow as he spoke. His hands slid, slow enough to ensure Damen's gaze was following, to the laces at the neck of his shirt, and he plucked them open one by one. He let it fall down one shoulder, then the other, then it was tumbling to the ground at his feet and he was completely exposed before Damen.

His cock throbbed at the sight.

"Yes," breathed Damen. He flicked his eyes up to Laurent's face in time to see him grin.

He couldn't keep his gaze from Laurent's body any longer than that.

Damen followed Laurent's hand as it slipped down the side of his neck, along his collarbone, and downwards, pinching one of his nipples between thumb and forefinger before smoothing again over the flat planes of his stomach towards his swaying hips. His pale skin still bore marks from Damen's mouth, in varying stages of healing. Had his own skin not been darker, it would have shown the same bruises.

Outside, the music shifted. The stringed instruments dropped away, and the drums grew louder, more pressing. People were moving to the coupling fire.

As a reward for his patience, perhaps, Laurent moved closer. He stood close enough that Damen would have been able to reach out and touch had his hands not been bound. He let out a noise of frustration, fingers curling impotently at his back. He needed to drag his hands over that perfect skin. Needed to dig his thumbs into the sharp grooves of Laurent's hips. Needed to taste him.

"Laurent," said Damen, the word a groan, "you're killing me."

Laurent grinned in response, clearly succeeding in his plan to do exactly that, but mercifully, he took pity on Damen. He slid into Damen's lap again, slotting himself into the slight spread of Damen's thighs until their bodies were flush against one another's. His movements had not slowed, and now Damen could feel them.

Separated by only the thin cotton of Damen's chiton, their cocks rubbed against each other, as Damen kissed Laurent with all the vigour of finally being able to touch again. They were no longer moving in time to the rhythmic drumming still pounding from outside their tent — if the noise was indeed still coming from outside. Damen felt as if it had perhaps seeped into his bones, the sound of his lust thrumming under his skin.

They were long past rhythm now. They were past much of anything besides the desperate scramble for friction, for release, but Laurent somehow still possessed mind enough to wrench open the fastening holding Damen's chiton at the waist. He pulled Damen's cock out into the close air between them, pressed it against his own in the tight embrace of his hand, and writhed.

Damen dropped his head. He had no power left to hold it up, his every strength given over to Laurent, as it had always been. His mind was lost to him as well, clouded by lust, by thoughts of nothing but Laurent. He wanted to lift his head. He wanted to watch as Laurent came undone, the sounds of his pleasure already taking on the familiar edge of his approaching climax. But before he could muster the strength to lift his head, Laurent's mouth was on his exposed neck, warm and wet, and Damen was spellbound again. He closed his eyes, and the picture reformed in his mind of Laurent twisting and curling before him.

Only for him.

That was the last push Damen needed. He crested, his body tensing, pulsing, alight with sensation as overwhelming now as it had been the first time, and every countless time since. Only dimly was he aware of the noises he made against Laurent's skin. It felt too good to be embarrassed by them, anyway.

He forced his head up, breath still punching ragged from his lungs, and leant in close to catch Laurent's lips. He tasted him as Laurent reached his own peak and swallowed the moans that escaped him.

Afterwards, neither of them moved. They sat panting together, breaths out of time, Laurent still sprawled across Damen's lap. Damen felt the weight begin to return to his limbs, felt the ache in his bound wrists, the stickiness between their heated bodies. The sound of drums was beginning to wind down. Vaguely he thought to himself that it was as if they had been drumming for them, only them. In their tent, it was easy to think the world ended at its leathered walls.

A sudden lightness in Damen's lap signalled Laurent climbing to his feet, and Damen cracked open his eyes to watch as he crossed the tent and soaked a cloth to tend to himself. It was another view Damen could easily stop to appreciate — and had, in perhaps too many moments like this — but tonight, he had a slightly more pressing concern than savouring the image of Laurent readying himself for sleep at last.

"Laurent," Damen said. His voice was little more than a rough crackle of distilled air. "You still need to unbind me."


	22. Shy Sex [Ancel/Berenger, Post-canon]

_"If he fails," said Ancel. "But if he wins?"_

Ancel stared back at Berenger with eyes as desperate, as pleading, as his tone had been. He had never stooped so low as to beg for anything in his life, but here he was. He'd get on his knees if that was what it would take. In his line of work anything you wanted you gained through cunning and manipulation, making people feel compelled to give you what you wanted instead of taking it for yourself, or by making a show of demanding it, the haughty pet seeking his money's worth. To lay his cards out on the table so openly was something he had never thought to do before Berenger.

"Berenger," he said, "what if he wins?"

Berenger's gaze was steadfast on him. His resolve was faltering, Ancel could tell. With his hands pressed to Berenger's chest, he could feel him take a breath to steady himself. A soft press of Ancel's lips against his and Berenger would crumble.

But Ancel didn't. Not yet. If Berenger was to agree to this, Ancel had to appeal to his reason, not his physical urges. He let only his fingertips touch the skin of Berenger's cheek. It was more for his own sake than Berenger's, one last touch in case this was the last they saw of one another, but Berenger's eyes shuttered in response as if it was more than he could have ever hoped for.

"We would have to be careful," he said, finally. Ancel could have launched himself into Berenger's arms at the words, but he forced himself to remain in place, to focus on the plans Berenger was putting together. "And I would not be able to openly hold your contract. If the Regent's faction came for me, any pet of mine would be just as culpable."

Ancel nodded. "Word has already spread that I am seeking a new contract. It would be easy to pretend I'm no longer yours."

"Perhaps it would be best if you avoided Arles entirely. You could claim one of the wealthy lords on the border has offered for you. It would be safe enough on my own lands, and you would have ample time to make your escape should the Regent demand my arrest."

Ancel had stopped listening partway through. He blinked, and looked back up into Berenger's face. "You want me to leave the court?"

"Ancel, it isn't safe here." His dark eyes were sympathetic as they gazed back down at him. He knew how much this place meant to Ancel. He may not have understood it, but he knew. "It wouldn't be forever. Just until— until we know the outcome of this."

"If Laurent loses, I'd not be able to come back here." Even if he could, even if he found a way to shrug off his months away from the court and questions about his mysterious new patron, if Laurent lost, it would mean Berenger had lost. Ancel knew what would happen to him then. And he knew he would not be able to bear setting foot in the place where Berenger had lost his life.

"Let me give up your contract and you could stay."

Somehow, that thought was worse. He shook his head, his fingers clutching in Berenger's jacket as if Berenger was about to prise Ancel away from him there and then. "No."

"Ancel…"

"Berenger." He met Berenger's eyes again, hardened to the decision now the choice was laid out so starkly in front of him. "I don't want you to give me up. I'm not letting you give me up."

"Even if it means you have to sacrifice the life you have here?"

"Yes. I'll go back to Varenne. I'll care for your boring horses, and I'll learn to read your boring books, and I'll wait for you and Prince Laurent to overthrow his uncle."

It wouldn't be easy. Ancel was sure it would be downright miserable, but he had to believe it would be worth it. For Berenger, it would be worth it. Even if it all went wrong, Ancel knew with a strange certainty that he would make this same choice again. The court would still be here waiting for him when Laurent won.

Berenger was struggling to keep the smile from his face. Still, when he spoke again his voice was quiet, as if he feared to acknowledge Ancel's choice out loud lest the words had been some cruel trick. "Tell me you're certain."

"I'm certain."

They kissed then, at last, and it was even better than the first they had shared. This time, they both knew just how much the other wanted it. They knew they may not have long to enjoy the luxury of kissing. Ancel wound his arms around Berenger's shoulders, felt Berenger's palms splay across his back, and he savoured the taste of Berenger on his tongue. Twice Berenger moved to end the kiss, to take a breath and pause before they lost themselves completely, and twice Ancel fought to keep the kiss alive.

Just a little longer. He hadn't had his fill yet.

"Are you finally going to fuck me now?" said Ancel once he had pulled back, arching an eyebrow and leaving Berenger to let out a breathless huff of laughter that sounded almost disbelieving in response.

But rather than answer, Berenger simply slipped his fingers into Ancel's hair, and gazed at him for a long, intolerable moment. "Are you sure you want me to?"

" _Yes_."

Ancel rolled his eyes. Smart as he was, Berenger could be unbearably stupid most of the time. He shouldn't have felt so endeared by that. It shouldn't have made him want to kiss Berenger even more.

Berenger smiled. "All right."

"I mean now."

"Yes, I thought you might."

He took Ancel by the hand and led him into his bedroom. Ancel had set foot in here before, to attend to Berenger and, occasionally, when Berenger was elsewhere conducting his own business and Ancel had nothing better to hold his interest, to poke through Berenger's things. It felt like walking in to a different room entirely now, the space transformed by Berenger's invitation. Ancel's eyes fell to the bed.

They gazed at one another for a moment, both rooted in place as if neither of them were sure what came next. Berenger, he could understand — and briefly Ancel wondered if he had ever taken someone to bed before — but Ancel was good at this. He was supposed to know what to do. Should he make a show of it, peel back his own clothes in the kind of display that would earn him whoops and cheers in the court? It was how he usually undertook the task of seduction, and he enjoyed the art of it, the resulting hungry eyes fixed on him. It was not the kind of display Berenger would respond to, though.

Berenger's hands went to his own lacings before Ancel could come to a decision.

"Let me," said Ancel, and he stepped forward, replacing Berenger's hands with his own. He peeled off Berenger's jacket, and the simple cotton shirt beneath, and knelt to unlace his boots. When Berenger was stood naked before him, Ancel took a step back to better drink in the sight.

It was a role reversal Ancel was unused to, being the one fully clothed.

"Don't," he said, when Berenger moved, as if by instinct, to cover himself.

Berenger dropped his hands back to his sides. His cock was not the biggest Ancel had seen, but it was pleasing enough to look at. Already it was beginning to swell, as was Ancel's own. Ancel let the thin silks of his outfit float to the ground without flourish, and he watched Berenger's eyes flit over him. There was a deep appreciation in his gaze.

"You've seen all of me before," Ancel pointed out.

"Not like this."

No. Not like this. There was a sense of vulnerability in the air between them now, the kind that rarely surrounded Ancel, and never at a time like this. But this was unlike anything he had experienced. He was still a pet, still fucking for money, even though it was growing harder and harder to think of Berenger as his patron, yet this time it wasn't his job, wasn't something he owed. Ancel truly wanted it.

Cautious, Berenger's hands sought Ancel's hips, and he guided Ancel close enough for Berenger to kiss him again, soft as his hands on Ancel's skin. He sank to his knees.

Ancel gasped. "Berenger—"

Of all the ways he could surprise Ancel, the heat of his mouth on Ancel's cock was one a world from consideration. No-one had ever— No master would—

Berenger pulled back at the sound of his name on Ancel's tongue, the shock in his voice. He looked up at Ancel. "Do you want me to stop?"

He should have said yes. Berenger was a patron; a lord; a man who held status even here in the palace. This was too far beneath him for Ancel to allow him to continue.

"No," Ancel said. He let his eyes slip closed when Berenger smiled and took Ancel into his mouth again. Berenger was not as skilled in the act as Ancel was, none of the confidence or embellishment to his movements that Ancel deployed to such great effect, but even the simple warmth and wetness of him surrounding Ancel's cock had his body responding. He slid his fingers into Berenger's short hair. It was not long before Berenger had Ancel thrusting into him of his own accord.

With a wet sound Berenger extricated himself, grip tight on Ancel's hips to keep them from snapping forward for more. They might have done, until the thought of Berenger's promise returned. Hot anticipation coursed through Ancel's body.

"Do you have any oils?" said Ancel, forcing through the haze Berenger's mouth on his cock had cast over his mind. He moved to settle on the bed, while Berenger climbed to his feet. It was the most dishevelled Ancel had seen him: his lips a dark red, his hair ruined by Ancel's roaming hands, his body flushed and wanting. It looked good on him.

"Yes. The palace servants saw fit to provide a generous collection of supplies for—" he swallowed "—enjoying the company of my pet."

Ancel's eyebrows climbed. "They did? Why didn't you give it to me?"

"You would have found use for them on your own?" said Berenger, amused. He crossed the room and retrieved a forgotten box, gilt and inlaid with jewels. It was probably worth more than Ancel's contract.

"I might have been able to tempt you into bed sooner."

Berenger smiled as he sat down at Ancel's side. "I don't think I dare imagine how."

"Then let me show you."

He worked himself open easily, with practised movements, though the overwrought moans and sighs he might have once performed he kept silent. Perhaps it was for that same reason that he didn't let himself look up into Berenger's eyes as he did this. He fixed his gaze on the carved canopy of the bed, heat pooling beneath the skin of his cheeks that had nothing to do with his arousal. Berenger had a tendency to flip what Ancel thought he knew on its head; he couldn't be sure that Berenger would not find this display obscene, would realise his mistake and turn and run.

But Berenger made no sound other than his steady (albeit heavier than usual) breathing. His fingers curled lightly around one ankle, and as Ancel worked another finger inside himself Berenger brushed a soft kiss to the inside of Ancel's knee.

"I want this," said Ancel, to himself or to Berenger. He removed his fingers, and finally braved a look back up at Berenger positioned between his legs.

He had slicked himself during Ancel's performance. A slight nod, and Ancel moved to roll onto his stomach, his insides roiling with seemingly every emotion all at once. "Wait," said Berenger. He caught Ancel. "I don't want you like that. I mean— It doesn't have to be like that, if you don't want."

Ancel couldn't think of many other ways he had done it. Sometimes he had been allowed to get on top and take control, but usually it was like this, pushed face down into the mattress and taken from behind. "How, then?" Ancel said.

"Lie back."

He did as he was told. It was a reflex by now, to oblige his masters in the bedroom, his body responding to each order before his brain was fully aware of the words that had been said. Yet he knew Berenger would not ask him to do anything he found objectionable. He opened his mouth to greet Berenger's kiss, and felt him push gently inside.

Even once he was settled all the way into Ancel's body, he moved as slowly as he had entered him. It was as if he feared Ancel might break beneath him. The pace of it was an easy one to discover, though, and Ancel met Berenger's thrusts. His heartbeat thudded in his ears.

"Is this all right?"

"Yes." Ancel keened beneath him, torn between the conflicting urges of watching for Berenger's reactions and closing his eyes to keep himself from being overwhelmed. "It feels good."

Oh, it felt so good. Not the hard, fast, desperate fucks Ancel was used to; the long drag of Berenger's cock in and out of him meant Ancel felt everything. Maybe this was how it was always supposed to be. He arched up off the mattress as hot pleasure sparked out through the length of his body from where Berenger was moving within him.

"Tell me if it's not what you want."

"I want it," Ancel said, shaking his head at the suggestion that he might not like what Berenger was doing to him. He clutched at Berenger, hands on his cheeks to keep him from pulling back, from changing the pace to what he thought Ancel would prefer. "It's—" He cursed himself for even considering saying it. "It's never been like this."

But as dreadful as the words were, it was the truth. He felt like a virgin again at the mercy of Berenger's ministrations, the pleasure unfolding throughout his body beyond his imagining. Berenger was not technically proficient — there was nothing remarkable about his skills, except, perhaps, for the roll of his hips, well-honed by so much time spent on horseback — yet Ancel found himself aching and panting as if he had discovered the greatest fuck in all of Vere.

"I always thought you'd fuck like you did in the ring," said Berenger. His voice was growing rough with his own spiking desire.

"Is that why you didn't want me"?"

Berenger looked back at him strangely. "No," he said, the word filled to bursting with meaning, with sincerity. Ancel had come to expect nothing less from him. He pressed his lips to Ancel's: a soft touch. "If anything, I'm a little curious."

Ancel grinned. "Next time." The words sounded like a promise, and Ancel felt something warm swell in his chest at the thought of getting to do this again, to have Berenger now, as he had wanted him for too long. "Next time, I'll fuck you like we're in the ring. If you'd let me."

"I'll let you."

Emboldened by that reassurance, Ancel hooked his legs around Berenger's waist and kissed him deeply. He could better steer Berenger's movements like this. He met them with his own, as he had never imagined he would do in bed with Berenger, but Berenger hardly seemed to long for a delicate ingénu. The moan he let out above him had Ancel's blood burning.

"Do you want to get on top?" he said.

"Yes." Ancel blinked, remembering himself then. "Do you want me to?"

A smile, and a nod. Berenger pulled away — and part of Ancel panicked at the distance, ached to pull him close again and not let them part for any reason — and settled on his back for Ancel to straddle his hips. Ancel quickly moved on top. His hair tumbled over his shoulder as he leant forward and began to rock against Berenger's waiting body. It would have been a calculated move, once.

Berenger reached out to brush his hand over it, the same way Ancel had seen him handle rare, ancient books and other priceless things. "You could have any man in Vere," he mused.

"I could," said Ancel. "Aren't you glad I chose you?"

"Very much so."

"I want you to come inside me, Berenger."

His eyes widened, searching, even as his hips bucked and thrust with his obviously nearing climax. Whatever assurance he was seeking in Ancel's face, he found it, and a heavy groan parted his lips as he let his head fall back, hands steering Ancel faster on top of him until they were both coming undone. Ancel marked Berenger's chest the way he had marked Lord Rouart's pet in the ring that day Berenger had bid for him. To his credit, Berenger was far happier with that outcome than the pet had been. Still smiling, he pulled Ancel down to rest with him in the wake of it.

"Berenger?" said Ancel after an easy, quiet moment had passed.

He gave a hum in response. The noise was thickened with drowsiness. As different as Berenger was from all the other men Ancel had fucked, in this regard they stood the same. Ancel could feel it tugging at his own eyelids as well.

"You had better make sure the Prince beats his uncle," he said. "Because I expect us to be doing this a great many more times."

Berenger's laugh shook right through to Ancel's body. He curled his arms around Ancel and they held one another, sleep taking them for brief snatches at a time, until desire claimed Ancel again, and he pushed himself on top of Berenger in the interest of making up for all the time they had wasted.


	23. Shower Sex [Damen/Laurent, Modern AU]

Laurent breathed a long sigh as he stepped into the shower. There was something therapeutic about it, shutting himself away from the world and letting the water wash away the day's stresses. It would take a lot of water to do so today, he feared. But since his uncle was still in control of Laurent's finances, as he had been since the death of Laurent's father, Laurent couldn't say he was too concerned about the state of the next bill his uncle received. He twisted the temperature dial to its hottest, and turned his back to the spray, letting it soften the tight knot of muscles along his shoulders.

Objectively, he knew this would come back to haunt him. Any excuse his uncle could find to hang on to Laurent's fortune, he would exploit; it would not be beneath him to try and paint Laurent as too irresponsible with money to be granted control of his inheritance. But for now, this small act of defiance felt too good for him to worry about much else.

Steam covered the glass of the shower enclosure and curled thick in the air around Laurent's ankles, rising slowly as more heat poured into the room, seeping into Laurent's skin. He turned to duck his head under the cascade, brushing his hair back from his forehead. He was just reaching for a bottle of shampoo when a voice cut through the drumming of water against the tiles.

"Let me," Damen said.

Laurent glanced over his shoulder to see the blurred outline of Damen's large frame on the other side of the glass. The growing collection of steam inside the shower cubicle spilled out into the bathroom when Damen opened the door. He was already naked.

Another act of defiance: Laurent's apartment, high in the grandest of the many towers his father had built in Arles, and across the rest of the country, was for Laurent, and Laurent alone. Even any guests Laurent should ever wish to invite over — not that he ever did — had to be approved by his uncle. Shacking up with an Akielon, of all people, was most definitely against his uncle's rules. But what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

"I didn't hear you come in," said Laurent, as Damen stepped into the shower and moved in close behind him. The heat of his skin was enough to rival the water pouring down over them.

"I just got home. How was your day?" When Laurent gave no answer, Damen curled his arms around Laurent's torso, and pressed a sweet kiss to his temple. "That bad?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

Damen nodded, the subject forgotten until Laurent would choose to bring it up himself, and he busied himself taking the shampoo bottle from Laurent's hands and squeezing some into his own palm. He slid his hands into Laurent's hair and, with well-practised movements, began to massage his scalp.

Laurent's eyes slipped closed, and he moaned at the touch. He stood still while Damen rinsed his hair, taking far longer than he needed to do so, though Laurent certainly had no complaints. And Damen didn't stop there. Lathering soap into his hands, he rubbed at Laurent's tense shoulders firmly enough to ease the knotted muscles as only he could, and while Laurent slowly melted in Damen's arms his hands slipped lower to cleanse Laurent's sides.

The touch was soothing enough that, even as aware of Damen's hands on him as Laurent was, he didn't realise Damen's intentions until he felt Damen's fingers glide over his nipples. He sucked in a breath, and Damen did it again, and again, until they were hard beneath Damen's fingertips and his body began to stir. He could already feel Damen's erection at his back, and he had to bite his lip to suppress a grin at the desperate sound Damen made when Laurent pushed his hips back against it. It really was too easy to drive Damen wild.

But having said that, perhaps he was no better himself.

One hand still teasing at Laurent's chest, Damen dropped the other between Laurent's legs, and Laurent's breath exited him in a rough punch when Damen's hand curled around him and brought him quickly to full hardness. If he'd remembered to breathe in again afterwards, Laurent wasn't aware of it. His heart felt like it was racing in time to the constant drum of water surrounding them as Damen worked him, pressing his lips to the side of Laurent's neck, whispering sweet nothings into his ear. All Laurent could do in response was groan.

With whatever sense he had left — if perhaps he had any at all in that moment — he forced his hips to move with Damen, pushing forward into his hand, then back to offer some relief to Damen's cock. He didn't know how long they stayed like that, time as lost to them as the rest of the outside world, but finally Laurent reached the summit of the mountain Damen had been guiding him towards, and he seized in Damen's arms as he came, his toes curling against the warm tile and fingers digging into Damen's forearms. Even in the midst of his climax, he was aware of Damen's gasp at his ear, and the warm splash of his release against Laurent's back.

"Do you feel better now?" said Damen. His lips danced over the side of Laurent's neck, and he grinned when Laurent answered him with a deep kiss.

They stood there under the too-hot spray of water, panting and resting against one another for support, until steadily the strength returned to them. Laurent reached forward to shut off the water. Tempting as it was to leave it running a while longer, the impulse to cause more trouble had abandoned him along with his sour mood. He'd be the bigger man tonight.

Damen would be so proud of him.

He twisted to peer back at Damen, resting against the tiles with his eyes closed as if he was still riding out his waves of bliss, and Laurent couldn't help the smile that seemed to grow out from the warm centre of his chest. "Thank you," he said.

The corner of Damen's lip twitched. "Any time." He opened his eyes and offered out a hand to Laurent as he straightened, any trace of post-coital languor evaporated. "Come on. I'll make us some dinner."

Laurent took his hand, letting Damen lead him out of the shower a damn sight more relaxed than he'd been when he had entered it.


	24. On the Desk [Damen/Laurent, Post-canon]

In the months leading up to Laurent's coronation, it had been near impossible to move through the palace; every room, every corridor teeming with staff making preparations, a veritable army of chefs and florists, joiners and tailors, working around the clock to ensure the event would be one for the history books. It had been the same before Damen's own coronation back in Ios, with the added nuisance of him being escorted back to his bed to rest every time someone would look up from their tasks to see their injured prince wandering the palace at night.

Tonight, however, there was not a sound to be heard, not a single person to be seen, as Damen walked through Arles' decorated halls. They seemed so much bigger now that he was alone in them. He took his time traversing each, not to take in the intricate carvings and rich tapestries the way he had allowed himself the first night he had explored the palace without the company of shackles or guard, or the Regent's poisonous presence tainting the halls, but to eye the gaps beneath each closed door in search of lights flickering within.

At the map room he stopped, and sighed.

He should have known.

Laurent did not look up, did not even seem surprised by the disturbance, when Damen pushed open the door. He stood hunched over the wide table that took up the centre of the room, the way he had stared down at maps and battle plans so many nights in the command tent not even a year before. Without seeing his face Damen knew he would be studying the paper in front of him as if he could see the events unfold with each piece he moved across the map.

"Who are we at war with now?" said Damen, as he came to stand at Laurent's side, like always. He half expected to hear the distant chatter and bustle of soldiers making camp outside, to look up and see the soft walls of the tent around them in place of dark wood cabinets filled with map books and scrolls.

Laurent had a map of Vere rolled out on the table in front of him. "The same person I have always been at war with."

"The Regent is dead, Laurent."

"His supporters aren't. The latest word has them placed to the east. Looking to expand their numbers at the border towns, I expect."

Damen eyed the box on the table, filled with carved figures representing infantry units and cavalry. As a young boy watching his father move similar tokens across maps identical but for the language indentifying each region, Damen had thought war a game.

"You plan to send raids out to eradicate them?" said Damen. "How do you hope to find handfuls of men with half a country to search?"

"I have an army, don't I?"

"If you waste your men on fruitless hunts, you'll lose them. They'll begin to think you paranoid, or without a strong enough grip on your throne." And the last thing Laurent could afford to be seen as was a weak king. He had won his throne through strength and perseverance, had brought peace to his country. He had gained too much to risk it for the sake of the few men still loyal to his uncle.

Laurent met his eyes. The same openness, that readiness to listen and to learn, which had surprised Damen when he had first discovered it during those long nights in the command tent was still there in his gaze. "What do you suggest?"

"The last remaining members of the Regent's faction are hoping to garner support? Cut them off at the source." Damen pointed to the blocks representing villages scattered along the base of the mountains. From the remoteness of their position, and the proximity to the Vaskian border, life there could not bear a single similarity to the wealth and splendour of the palace. The matter of who ruled over Vere would be of little import to these villagers, forgotten on the edge of the country, unless they believed a different king would change their lives for the better. "Let the people here see their new king. Listen to their concerns and their troubles. Provide them what aid they need. And when your uncle's men arrive, they will find none willing to join their cause."

"If I am to visit every village and township in Vere and solve their problems, I will have no time left to rule."

"You don't have to go everywhere. And you don't have to fix everything. If people know their king does not ignore his subjects, that he wants to help them, then word will spread on its own."

A smile stretched across Laurent's face as he considered Damen's words. "That's what Auguste would do," he said.

He allowed himself a moment of private thought, and Damen stayed silent through it, before Laurent looked back up at him, his eyes still soft. His fingers brushed the bare skin of Damen's upper arm.

"You know, you're smarter than you look."

"It's been said," replied Damen, drily. He pushed the map and its pieces across the table, out of Laurent's reach and hopefully out of his thoughts, and moved to sit back against the thick wood. Laurent stepped into the space between Damen's thighs. His hands slid from Damen's arms up to his neck, and Damen closed his eyes against the sweet touch. Where Laurent would once freeze under the brush of Damen's fingers, he was now quick to lean in, to reach out, free with his affections as if things had never been any different between them. To everybody else, he might have been the ice cold bitch he always was, but Damen knew the truth.

"This all comes so easily to you," said Laurent. His fingers worked their way into Damen's hair. If his gaze was as soft as his voice had been, it was probably best that Damen had kept his eyes shut.

"It's what I was raised to do. I never had to come to any of this on my own." He looked back at Laurent then, the sight of him stood here in the palace that had never been meant for him, that for so many years had shown him nothing but cruelty, bringing a swell of warm pride to Damen's chest. "You're doing well," he said, and leant forward to press a gentle kiss to Laurent's lips.

Laurent's fingers tightened in his hair in response, a silent prompt for more, and Damen gladly obliged, circling his arms around Laurent's back to pull him close and deepen the kiss, tasting Laurent like he had been starved of him as Laurent responded with equal enthusiasm. It was a slow, reluctant end when they did pull apart. But even then, Laurent made no move to free himself from Damen's arms, or to loosen his own grip on Damen.

"I thought you would be asleep by now," he said. He brushed his fingertips over Damen's cheek, as if he was making sure Damen was really there with him. Damen kissed his palm before he could draw his hand away.

"I've been waiting for you."

Laurent arched an eyebrow. With their hips pressed together, it was obvious enough exactly what Damen was waiting for. Laurent reached between them, snaking a hand under Damen's chiton to hold it. Even that light touch was enough to draw a satisfied gasp from Damen's lips.

"I can tell."

Damen grinned. "Keep going."

He shifted to grant Laurent access, and Laurent's fingers slipped between his legs, a feather-light touch against the sensitive skin there before they came to a sudden, shocked pause.

"You're…"

The last time they had done it this way — the only time, and the only time Damen had ever been the one to receive — it had been in the aftermath of everything that had transpired at Ios, once Damen's wound had recovered enough for intimacy. It had been a wealth of contradictions: careful and desperate; vulnerable and liberating; painful and perfect; and part of Damen had ached for it ever since. If anything could tempt Laurent out of his own head for a while, perhaps it would be this.

"I grew impatient," said Damen, forcing himself to shrug as if it was nothing. "Do you want to?"

Laurent's response was immediate, assured. "Yes."

He took Damen's hand and moved to pull him up, towards the door and back to their bedchambers, but Damen stayed rooted in place. He tugged Laurent back against his body.

"I'm still impatient."

Laurent's cheeks flooded with colour. Any hesitation he might have felt, though, he hid well, and when he spoke his voice was filled with its usual icy confidence. "Lie back, then," he said.

Damen dropped back against the firm wood of the table. It was too large for him to reach the edges to cling on to, so he grasped for Laurent's hips as he slotted himself between Damen's legs again, the cool silk of Laurent's trousers pressing against the backs of Damen's thighs. He wrenched the laces of his trousers open faster than Damen had ever managed it himself.

A few long seconds without a sound but their breathing. Damen could feel the warm head of Laurent's cock, already hardening, against his skin, but Laurent made no move to press it into him yet. Instead, he danced his fingers along Damen's inner thigh, each swirl of his fingertips sending sparks through Damen and making his body tighten in anticipation.

"Next time," said Laurent, as his fingers moved to Damen's entrance, teasing at it before pushing them inside without resistance, and Damen bit his lip at the sensation, "will you let me watch?"

The words took a moment to sink through the haze of arousal in Damen's mind, though their meaning did not soon follow. He glanced up at Laurent, fighting the urge to moan as Laurent moved against him where he was most sensitive to pleasure. The expression on Laurent's face was every bit as blissful as Damen felt, as if he was already inside, as if Damen's body felt as good around his fingers as it would encircling his cock.

"Let you watch?"

"As you prepare yourself."

_Oh_. Damen grinned at the thought. Laurent had done the same for him before, and even the memories of those performances were enough to heat Damen's blood during the long, cold nights he and Laurent spent apart. He wanted to give Laurent that same pleasure. He would give Laurent anything.

"I'll let you do it for me, if you like."

As if he hadn't imagined it was Laurent's long fingers moving inside him as he had done it.

Laurent leant forward to kiss him again, wet and heated, as he pushed his fingers deeper, thrusting with them before withdrawing completely. Damen's heart was already racing. If Laurent's fingers could do this to him, how was Damen going to manage when he put his cock inside? Laurent had been careful last time, so careful that physical desire had fallen almost entirely to the wayside in the intimacy between them, but tonight there was nothing to hold them back, to keep them from fully enjoying this. Damen's thighs tensed on either side of Laurent's hips.

His blue eyes fixed intent and unblinking on Damen's, Laurent lined himself up, and pressed into him.

It wasn't quite how Damen had remembered it. He clenched his teeth while Laurent sank slowly into him, cautious thrusts to push in a little deeper, his thumbs rubbing comforting circles into Damen's hips. The first time they had done this, Damen had spirited himself away to work his body open with slow, nervous fingers, a long process that, when Laurent had entered him, had still proven to be inadequate. He had done better tonight, though he feared not well enough.

How did Laurent take this from him each night and still manage to walk upright the next morning? Damen would be limping for weeks.

"Are you all right?" Laurent said. He had settled now, not all the way inside but apparently as far as he was prepared to go, and he placed his hand on Damen's chest, over his thundering heart.

"Yes," said Damen. He gave a testing push of his own hips against Laurent's, and gasped as a curl of heat licked at his insides. Already his body was stretching to accommodate Laurent inside him, as if it was their natural state to be entwined. Damen smiled to himself. He remembered this part. "You can start moving now."

It was a moment before he did, though. Instead, Laurent reached for the pin holding Damen's chiton at the shoulder and let it fall apart around him. His hand splayed across the expanse of Damen's chest, thumb toying at his nipple in the way that never failed to have Damen twitching and shuddering beneath him, before it came to rest over the fresh scar tissue on Damen's stomach. For months it had been an ugly, tender wound, slower to fully heal than Damen could bear. Whenever Laurent laid eyes on the scar that remained, Damen could see the memories of that awful day playing out in his mind.

"I'm still here," said Damen, his voice gentler even than Laurent's touch. He reached to cover Laurent's hand with his own.

"Yes," Laurent said. He was quiet for a moment, lost in thought as if he was not currently buried deep inside Damen's body, but when he looked up again there was a familiar smile on his face. "Shall I show you how far my gratitude extends?"

"You had better."

Laurent's grin widened to match Damen's own, and, hooking Damen's legs over his elbows, he began to move. It was slow at first, and cautious, like he wasn't sure of his own actions, but it was enough to tempt a choked moan from Damen's lips with every thrust, his head dropping back against the wood as his every thought turned to Laurent's cock pushing into him. Damen may not have experienced others like this, but he was familiar enough with his own pleasure to know Laurent was more adept at fucking than he thought himself. By the end of this, he was going to be well aware of how good he could make Damen feel.

As Laurent's thrusts gradually built in confidence and intensity, Damen fumbled for him, fingers clutching at the soft cotton of his shirt and sliding underneath it to seek out skin. The muscles of his stomach tensed beneath Damen's hands. It wasn't enough. Perhaps he should have let Laurent drag him back to their bed where they could wrap themselves around one another, hands splayed over every inch of each other's bodies, close enough to kiss. But it was too late to think about that now. And besides, there were still hours before dawn. They had time.

"I want you," said Damen, not fully aware of the words spilling from him even as he said them. His hands moved to Laurent's hips to pull him closer, deeper. "I want all of you."

"You have me," Laurent replied, perhaps just as desperate as Damen felt. His eyes were dark with desire and his pale skin flushed. He was moving faster now, his hips snapping forward in an exact reproduction of the way Damen liked to move within Laurent's body that would have left Damen wondering whether Laurent spent more time studying Damen's actions in bed than he did actually enjoying them, were he not too busy gasping and scrabbling for purchase on the polished wood.

It was not even hard fucking, yet Damen's body was aching and sparking with pleasure as if it was the bedding of a lifetime, Laurent moving carefully enough within him for Damen to savour every moment. No wonder Laurent liked it like this.

"Why don't we do this more often?" said Damen.

Over the slap of their bodies connecting and their mingled, harsh breathing, he heard Laurent laugh above him. A hand came to brush Damen's cheek again, and he leant into it, eyes closed against the pleasure coursing hot through him. He parted his lips for Laurent's thumb to slip between them.

"I'll be sure to remind you of those words," Laurent said, his voice roughened, "next time you part my thighs."

He dropped Damen's legs then and pulled back without warning. Damen's eyes snapped open. It was a sharp tug from bliss that he had not been anticipating, fallen too far into the rhythm of their hips to remember that this was Laurent against him, and Laurent did not like to make things simple. He thrust a hand out to try and grab for him, to pull him back towards Damen again, his body aching for the weight of him inside, but Laurent was too quick.

"Turn over," he said. He could have said anything and Damen would have done it just to feel him again.

He pushed himself up and moved into position, flattening himself against the warm wood where he had just been pressed, and placed his feet far enough apart to give Laurent room behind him. He wouldn't be able to watch Laurent like this. He wouldn't be able to reach out and touch, to pull him down into a kiss. But when Laurent pushed back into him the angle of his cock brushing Damen's inner walls pushed those thoughts from him just as it pushed the air from his lungs in a low, desperate groan.

Damen moved back to meet Laurent's hips, forcing his cock deeper and drawing a sharp noise from him in turn. At least he wasn't the only one who had lost his inhibitions. And even if he could not see Laurent's face shift in his growing pleasure until he peaked, the sounds he made behind Damen would be enough to guide Damen's movements. He rolled his hips with Laurent's, and slowly — too slowly for Damen's liking, after Laurent had already brought him so close to his end — Laurent began to rock into him again.

He brushed his hands up Damen's flanks, over the mess of scars on his back (this he followed with a kiss, as if he could heal them with the softness of his touch, and for a moment Damen could have believed that he had), and draped himself over Damen's back. Damen could feel the heat of his body through his shirt.

"Tell me what you want me to do," he said against Damen's ear. He pressed another kiss to Damen's cheek, but was gone when Damen moved to chase it with his lips.

Usually such a statement was a dangerous one, as Damen had learnt to his cost. In his more insufferable moments, Laurent had a habit of doing the exact opposite of what Damen asked of him, touching him everywhere but the one place he begged to feel Laurent's hands, pulling back when Damen asked for more. But there was a hint of desperation in Laurent's tone, and already his ironclad control was slipping; he was as lost to this as Damen was.

"I want you to make me come."

Laurent let out a shaking breath in response, as if the mere thought of it was intoxicating to him, and he reached under Damen's skirts to wrap a hand around his aching cock. There was no finesse to the touch, but it was enough to have Damen moaning with abandon. Even so close to the edge, Laurent knew Damen's body like it was an extension of his own.

A particularly hard thrust sent Damen's hips slamming forward into the table, and he cursed in Akielon.

"I'm sorry," said Laurent. His hips stopped, hands smoothing over Damen's skin to check his side for blood — an old habit he had not yet trained himself out of whenever Damen showed the slightest sign of discomfort — and his brows knitted tight in concern when Damen twisted to look back at him.

"No," he replied. A smile crept unbidden over his face. "I liked it."

For a moment they just stared at one another, their breaths still ragged, each waiting for the other's next move, the next revelation. Finally Laurent grinned, and he did it again. Damen was prepared for it this time. He'd be covered in bruises come the morning, but even that thought unfurled a swell of heat through Damen's body.

The table shifted beneath them, the sound of wood scraping against stone rising even above their joined moans, but neither of them slowed. They were too close now to care about anything but one another's pleasure. Damen clenched hard around Laurent's cock, and Laurent cried out behind him, unrestrained in a way he hadn't been until only recently. Laurent's hand pumped Damen faster, his own wetness easing each stroke. He littered open-mouthed kisses across Damen's shoulders.

"You feel incredible," he breathed against Damen's skin.

Damen's nails scratched at the wood but could find no hold to ground him, and he mouthed wetly at his own forearm beneath him to try and stem the shouts that wanted to flood from his chest. He was going to come with Laurent's cock still in him. There was no stopping the tide now, no slowing to see to Laurent's climax before his own. With Laurent's hand massaging at the tip of his cock, Damen gasped, and spilled.

And all the while, Laurent continued to move. It was too much, Damen's body too sensitive in the wake of his climax to endure the rapid push and drag of Laurent's cock, but he'd sooner have this than pull away, even to finish Laurent in his hand or his mouth. He wanted everything Laurent could give him. He would take everything Laurent could give him.

A few more faltering thrusts, and Laurent sank deep into him with a groan, dropping his forehead to Damen's back and clutching at his sides as if to anchor himself against the pleasure overtaking him. With more effort than he would have thought himself able to muster, Damen reached back for Laurent's thigh pressed tight to his own, holding him close while he recovered. They remained curled together longer than was comfortable, but for as long as Laurent was content to curl himself over Damen, Damen would happily stay pinned beneath him.

Laurent placed a soft kiss to Damen's cheek, and another. He was smiling when Damen cracked an eye open to gaze at him. "Will you be able to stand when I move back?" he said, pushing himself up onto his hands but making no move to separate their bodies.

"You think me so feeble?"

"Your legs are still trembling."

Laurent's release dripped thick and warm between Damen's thighs, though he had neither means nor motivation to do anything about it. He could only shift his hips beneath Laurent's nudging hands, and let him unwind the remainder of Damen's chiton that was barely fastened into place. Laurent cleaned him with it, and tied it back around his waist. Damen would need to stand for Laurent to fix it at the shoulder. He could manage without it.

"Perhaps I'll just sleep here. It's more comfortable than it looks."

Laurent pulled back from him then. The movement forced Damen's hands back to the wood beneath him, steadying himself as his legs remembered to support his weight. Maybe he really could fall asleep like this. Already his eyes were struggling to stay open. But his interest piqued again when Laurent wound his arms back around Damen's waist.

"Damen," he said, his voice low and full of promise, "let's go to bed."


	25. With Toys [Pallas/Lazar, Post-canon]

The first time Pallas had seen Marlas, it had been an awful place. The fort itself had been more ruin than stronghold, made up of uneven stone walls where Veretian ornamentation had been callously removed to put to better purpose, and a weight to the air around it that settled in the stomach, thick with history. It was as if the horrors of the field had seeped across the landscape and into the city, marring the fort and the buildings beyond with its blood and pain.

Pallas' father had lost his life in that battle, like so many others whose memories had seemed to haunt the place.

This was not the future he had died for; a new palace built where the tainted fort had once stood, with twin thrones for an Akielon and a Veretian king, the city's culture a reflection of that union, which would one day spread out all the way across both countries. This was better. An end to war and little threat of its return was no good to a soldier like Pallas, but even he felt buoyed by the sense of peace here.

He walked the streets — thronged with people now where they had once stood barren, settlers drawn by the proximity to the royal seat of power — with a smile on his face. His days here were usually spent at the palace, inside grand rooms at King Damianos' side despite his frequent insistence that he did not need to be guarded so closely, or taking part in the drills that still took place daily outside the soldiers' barracks. Many of the men complained, once their kings were far from earshot, that there was no need for such rigorous training in peacetime. Pallas was not one of them. But that did not mean that he was not going to make the most of a day free from obligations.

The market square was already as chaotic as the ones Pallas had seen in Ios — more so, perhaps, as the vendors shouting over one another to draw the attention of the crowds did so in Akielon and Veretian both, and what sounded to Pallas' ear like an odd combination of the two. A stand covered in the glinting metals of daggers and spearheads captured his eye, and he stepped towards it.

"How much?" he said, as he tested the weight of a small hunting knife in his hand.

The vendor was almost as pale as King Laurent, even under the summer sun, but instead of fine-spun gold his hair was sandy, and still worn in the traditional Veretian style despite the changing fashions. He blinked in response, surprised perhaps by Pallas' ease with the tongue, his lack of a telltale Akielon accent. There were not many Akielon soldiers with a skill for languages, just as Pallas had not until recently encountered any Veretian men who could speak more than a few rough words in Akielon, but Pallas' father had done well for himself under their Kyros, and he had seen his son to a good education.

"Twelve copper sols, for a member of the Kings' Guard."

Pallas handed him the money, and tucked his new acquisition into his belt. He was just turning from the stall when the sound of a sharp, ribald whistle cut through the air.

There was only one man Pallas knew likely to be so brazen even away from the rowdiness of a soldier's camp.

Lazar grinned when Pallas glanced in his direction. He was sauntering across the square with Rochert at his side, who rolled his eyes when he saw the object of his companion's attention and walked away with a shake of his head. Evidently the Veretians among the Kings' Guard had been granted leave of the palace as well.

He just hoped that did not mean his kings had disappeared again, as they were wont to do at the most inopportune moments.

But he let that thought slide when Lazar came to join him.

"Pallas," said Lazar, rolling the word along his tongue the way he always did, like he enjoyed the way it tasted. He faltered then, his attempt at greeting Pallas in Akielon stumbling from his lips with inexperience.

"Hello," Pallas repeated.

He should have revealed long ago that he could hold a conversation in Lazar's language. But it was just too entertaining to watch Lazar's clumsy attempts to communicate, the way he would try to speak Veretian very slowly as if that might help Pallas' understanding before finally resorting to miming and suggestive glances to express himself, to let him in on Pallas' secret now.

Besides, he quite enjoyed the silence. And in the two months since they had both been stationed permanently here at Marlas, they had managed well enough without words.

Lazar nodded to the next stall and shot Pallas a questioning look which was out of place on a face usually so devilishly confident, and they walked on, strolling the square as their gazes spent more time on one another than on the wares being peddled all around them. Pallas stopped at the stall of a woman selling traditional Akielon jams and lifted a jar to Lazar's nose for him to take a sniff, before Lazar led them on once again.

He halted in his tracks quite suddenly, and when Pallas turned to look at him he found a glint in Lazar's eye which he had seen a great many times before, though never in such a pubic setting. He was staring at a stall tucked behind the others, not out of sight but hidden enough that those not paying proper attention would pass it by, the shades protecting its treasures a deep, sumptuous plum.

With childish glee, Lazar took Pallas by the hand and tugged him towards the stall.

Pallas' eyes widened as he took in the display. He did not need to look up to know the pieces on offer were the work of a Veretian trader. Whether they were made from polished wood or decorated glass, shaped with intricate, expert precision or carved into only an abstract imitation, they were all alike in their resemblance, and their intended use.

Pallas had never encountered such a thing in Akielos. Was it really so common in Vere? Lazar was hardly surprised by the sight, though if there was anyone likely to be familiar with such things, no matter how difficult they were to come by, it would be him.

"They're fine pieces," said Lazar to the vendor. His voice was smooth and warm with open desire, and Pallas' blood began to heat as it did when he heard that tone in the privacy of the bedchambers.

"You have a pet?" the vendor replied. The woman paid no attention to Pallas stood at Lazar's side, which was perhaps for the best, considering how Pallas was already flustered by the simple existence of a stall like this, and the fact that people would find a need for it.

He had always been satisfied with the real thing, and his own fingers when he found himself without company. He wondered if Lazar had ever entertained himself like this, and had to bite the inside of his lip at his body's fierce response to the thought.

Lazar smiled as his gaze slipped briefly in Pallas' direction and back again. "Better."

"He's going to love this one." She brought one velvet cushion forward, and Pallas' cheeks burned at the sight of the glass phallus sitting atop it. It was bigger than anything he had taken.

Lazar's eyes flicked to Pallas in a silent question.

His heartbeat spiked, and in a moment of daring that he would likely regret later, Pallas gave a tiny nod, already struggling to suppress the grin that wanted to spread across his lips.

Lazar let his own run wild on his face. "I'll take it," he said.

As they walked away from the stall, the small wooden chest containing Lazar's purchase tucked protectively under his arm, he looked towards Pallas again, still unable to control the excitement on his features. Pallas let himself share in it, and at his smile, Lazar took Pallas' hand in his. He quirked his eyebrows and gestured in the vague direction of the palace.

Pallas nodded, without hesitation this time.

They were kissing before they had even reached Pallas' room within the palace. If anyone passed them, Pallas was oblivious, and Lazar would hardly care. He'd have had Pallas out of his chiton two steps past the market square if he could. As it was, he did not wait for Pallas to close the door before he was pulling at ties with the ease of one who knew exactly where to find them all. His own clothes were quick to follow Pallas' to lay forgotten on the ground as they hurried across the room to the bed pushed up against the far wall.

Lazar retrieved his toy — or Pallas' toy, more accurately, though he imagined Lazar would be the one to find the most enjoyment in this — the moment he had Pallas down on the bed beneath him.

"Your fingers first," said Pallas.

Whether it was due to Pallas' tone, or it was what he had simply planned to do regardless, Lazar obliged, sliding two wet fingers into Pallas with all the confidence of knowing they would slip easily inside. Pallas gave a satisfied hum in response. Often Lazar's method of intimacy was lifting Pallas' skirts and entering him without preamble — which, Pallas had to admit, did have its own appeal, and he was almost as likely to take charge in a similar fashion. But when Lazar did take the time, he could make Pallas fall to pieces with just those skilful fingers. He had done, more than once.

His movements today, however, were cursory, only attentive enough to get the job done. This was a warm up, not the main event. And as much as Pallas could have ridden him to completion, his eyes returned to the phallus on the bed beside him every time his lips left Lazar's skin.

With one final, breathless kiss, Lazar pulled back, fingers sliding from Pallas as he looked deep into Pallas' eyes, waiting for his prompting. Pallas did not keep him waiting for long.

"Yes," he said, one of the few words he was certain Lazar understood, if only because Pallas had used it so many times in these heated moments between them.

"Yes?"

Pallas reached both hands up for Lazar's stubbled cheeks (a clear violation of a soldier's standard of appearance, though one Lazar continued to flout) and pulled him into a hungry kiss as if it might replace all the words that did not pass between them. Lazar's hips pressed against Pallas' own, and the firm, hot weight of his cock brushed Pallas' skin, moving back and forth like he was inside, like he had forgotten for a moment that it was not him that was about to enter Pallas.

Pallas wouldn't care if Lazar wanted to. As long as he would get fucked by something, after all this teasing.

Still writhing atop him, Lazar reached the hand not gripping tight at Pallas' hip out for the glass, and after a moment Pallas felt its wet head nudge at his entrance. He gasped as Lazar pushed it into him. His body tightened around the cold of it, its unyielding weight, so unlike anything he had felt inside him before, and slower than he would have done had it been his own cock, Lazar let it sink deeper, until the soft, warm skin of Lazar's hand on the base touched Pallas' skin. He did not pull his hand back afterwards.

"Yes?" he said again, and Pallas smiled at the effect his accent had on the word. Lazar's free hand dragged up and down the length of Pallas' thigh, soothing him through the initial discomfort.

"Yes."

He dropped his head, waiting for the inevitable press of Lazar's open mouth along the column of his bared neck, and considered the weight inside him. He was full, but not uncomfortably so; Lazar's fist on the base had not only kept the glass steady while Pallas' body wanted to fight against the intrusion, but it also kept him from pushing it in all the way, as Lazar loved to do when he was the one sinking inside Pallas. It was an odd sensation, to be so close to Lazar yet not actually fucking. But when Lazar pulled his fist back, just a few inches to begin with, and pressed forward again in an affectation of thrusting, it became harder to remember that it was not his cock inside. He still had Pallas at his mercy. It was still Lazar's name on Pallas' lips as he groaned and rocked at the feeling of being penetrated.

With each thrust Lazar removed a little more of the glass, and pushed it back inside with increasing speed, his lips chasing the sweat that had begun to bead on Pallas' skin. "You are so beautiful," he said in Veretian, between wet kisses to Pallas' chest and neck and lips. "So perfect."

Pallas could only groan in response.

Lazar was as skilled with the phallus in his hand as he was with his fingers, and with his cock. He would let a rhythm build, in and out, and in and out, just long enough for Pallas to adjust before changing the pace, the depth, the angle, the moment he began to move his hips in time. Pallas let the curses slip out freely from his lips. He was content in the knowledge that even if Lazar could not decipher the words Pallas moaned and shouted beneath him, he could guess their meaning. Each brought a lecherous smile to Lazar's face.

The pleasure roiling inside him built to the point that Pallas was forced to close his eyes, to block out Lazar gazing back down at him, to try and block out everything before he could go mad with bliss. The glass was all the way inside him now, so long and thick he was bound to feel the ghost of it for days to come, but he had grown accustomed to the stretch and the pressure — so much so that when Lazar pulled it free completely, Pallas' head shot up, unceremoniously tugged back into the world around him.

"Here," said Lazar, and reached for Pallas' hand. He wrapped it where his own hand been, the glass hot from his touch, and pushed himself back to the very foot of the bed.

Pallas' eyes flicked up and down over him. His skin was ruddy as if he had been the one to feel Pallas' clenching body around him, his cock engorged and shining wet at the head. Lazar placed his hand on it, gaze fixed on Pallas as he began to stroke himself.

Propped up on one elbow to better watch Lazar's assured movements, Pallas slid the glass back into himself. The roughened groan that punched its way from Lazar's chest in response brought an even stronger throb of arousal to Pallas' gut than the pressure inside him. He moved his hand faster, building to the pace Lazar had set out and surpassing it, his hips circling with abandon, and Lazar matched Pallas' movements, as if his hand could replicate the hot embrace of Pallas' body.

The sound of Lazar's rambled Veretian praise echoed about the stone walls and through Pallas' head as the pleasure burning hot through his veins reached its zenith. He cried out, Lazar coaxing him on while his body seized and the breath snatched from his lungs, and all the while he continued to fuck himself with the glass phallus, until he could not bear the feel of it pressing against him a moment longer.

Useless, it tumbled from his grasp onto the mattress beside him, and Lazar was above him again. He caught Pallas' lips before the breath had even returned to him, his hand still pumping his cock. With a low, drawn-out moan, he followed Pallas into ecstasy.

"That was incredible," he said, a languid grin on his face as he draped himself over Pallas' body once he had ridden out his pleasure. He pressed one soft kiss after another to Pallas' chest.

Pallas smiled. His eyes were already falling closed under the encroaching need for sleep. "It was," he replied, as his fingers slid into Lazar's unshorn hair. Usually in the wake of intimacy Lazar was the first to pull away, quicker with a crude, flippant joke than with true displays of affection. It was a rare moment for him to be so open, so loving, and Pallas held him close to preserve it a little longer.

He didn't realise his mistake until Lazar's head snapped up again, staring at Pallas with wide eyes, the blissful haze shocked out of him.

Pallas had replied in Veretian.


	26. Rough Sex [Damen/Laurent, Post-canon]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, it's potential trigger warning time: this entry involves the use of the pleasure drug from book one, so if you think that might make you uncomfortable it's probably best to skip this one.

It was a rare thing, for Damen to have an evening free of the demands of kingship; no advisors to meet with, no reports from outside the city to sift through, no courtiers or delegates to entertain. It was rarer still for Laurent to be similarly unburdened. Laurent had dismissed their house staff some hours ago, and was now strolling across the room, a goblet in each hand, towards the low couch where Damen sat.

Damen plucked a fig from the bowl at his side, took the glass Laurent offered him. "What is it?" he said, at the strange intensity with which Laurent watched him.

Laurent dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. "I like seeing you like this," he said, while he settled next to Damen.

"Like this?"

"In the quiet moments."

Damen smiled and took a sip of his wine, Laurent's eyes still on him. After a moment Laurent lowered his gaze to his own drink, and stared, almost hesitant, before finally swallowing a mouthful. Laurent's taste for wine had been developing, steadily, in the months since he had ascended to his throne, but Veretian and Akielon wines were very different creatures. The long hours of sunshine and warmer climes here in Akielos leant the grapes a more robust flavour; Damen was not surprised that a newcomer to drink such as Laurent was still finding his stomach for it.

He would have plenty of time to once their palace on the border was completed, Damen thought with a smile.

It was a short while before he noticed anything was amiss. He was increasingly aware of the brush of cotton against his thighs, warmed fabrics on the back of his bare arms when he shifted in place on the lounging couch, things he was never usually able to stop and enjoy. He needed to make time for more evenings like this, where he could sit with Laurent and talk, and eat fresh fruit, and make the most of the warm night air passing over his skin like silk. He drained the rest of his wine to try and cool the growing heat on his skin, sweat creeping to the surface.

"Are you warm?" he said, and stood to throw open the shutters and chase away the stifling heat of the room.

It was only then, peering back at Laurent sat like he was trying very hard to control his movements, that Damen understood. Laurent's eyes were a tiny ring of blue around enlarged pupils.

"Laurent," said Damen over the insistent thudding of his heart and the other changes roiling through him, and he eyed his wine glass, "what did you do?"

With a sly grin Laurent pulled a small glass ampoule from where he had kept it hidden away inside his clothes. It was empty. Damen didn't need to ask what it had contained.

"Why?"

"I was curious."

"After your last adventure with it?" It was taking a concerted effort on Damen's part to keep his voice steady, to keep his thoughts clear. He was already failing the last. His gaze was on Laurent: his firm thighs; the long, pale neck poking from the open neckline of his loose shirt; the flush creeping onto his cheeks. A ragged breath punched from Damen's chest at the knowledge that he was experiencing the exact same as Damen.

"Well, I never did get to truly enjoy its effects," said Laurent. He looked as if he was having trouble composing himself as well. Then, after a hungry look at Damen that sent a stab of arousal to his lower gut: "Take me to bed."

Damen was Laurent's slave once again, scooping Laurent into his arms with no thought but of the things Damen was going to do to him. He could feel the heat of Laurent's body, the press of his erection against Damen's stomach as Laurent wrapped his legs around Damen's hips and let himself be carried into the bedroom, sharing messy kisses to sate them on the journey.

Damen wasn't sure he could complete it. With what little sense of reason he still possessed he knew he was being absurd, yet still each of those simple strides to the wide archway and the bed beyond it seemed like leagues, more time to waste before he could be inside Laurent. He needed it now. His body ached with it, every part of him primed and ready for this, as if it was the sole task his body was designed for. In that moment, he could believe his only purpose in the world was to please Laurent.

Despite Damen's urge to sink down onto the cool stone floor and start rutting right there, they made it into the bedroom. They crashed down onto the bed, pulling at each other's clothes with a fervent need, hungry mouths on each other all the while. He felt a sudden sharpness at his ear: Laurent's teeth tugging on his lobe, while his hands moved with expert precision over the fastenings of Damen's garments until Damen could feel the warm air on the rest of his skin.

Laurent pulled back then, his eyes on Damen in the low light of the single oil lamp beside the bed. He looked Damen up and down like a predator studies a potential meal — and Damen was happy to be devoured. The days of Laurent being meek and uncertain in bed were long past them now, and Laurent took as easily to this as he seemed to take to everything else.

Tonight, though, Damen didn't want a lover who could tease him to the brink of insanity before granting him that blissful relief. His heart was already galloping as if he'd had a thorough fucking, and he wasn't sure how much more delay he could take before it burst clean out of his chest. He wanted Laurent, eager and obedient beneath him.

And, for the moment, he had it.

Before that could change, Damen slid back on the mattress, ducking Laurent's hands grasping to pull him close again, and tugged his trousers free until Laurent lay exposed, cock flushed with his need. Damen's mouth went dry at the sight. Never mind the fact that he had had Laurent to enjoy like this almost every night since he'd returned to the palace more than a week earlier; Damen felt a yearning for Laurent more urgent than he had experienced since their first nights together. He swallowed, and allowed himself one touch, a caress of his thumb up the heated skin. His own cock throbbed at it, and again at the guttural sound of pleasure the touch pulled from Laurent.

As sweet as those unguarded sounds were, and as much as Damen wanted to hear nothing else for the rest of his days, he didn't do it again. They'd wasted too much time already.

He pushed himself past Laurent's waiting body to snatch up one of the bottles of oil beside the bed. It was cold against Damen's fingers when he coated them, but he didn't wait for the fires beneath his skin to warm it before he placed himself back between Laurent's spread thighs and pressed two fingers into him.

Laurent's body opened for them in a welcoming embrace, like some missing part of him had returned, his muscles too languid to offer any resistance. Damen felt it, too: the deep relaxation coursing through him, loosening his limbs, uncoiling tension Damen hadn't even been aware he'd been carrying, at the same time that his body came alive like it had only a few times before. He could feel every pulse of blood beneath his skin.

Laurent was rocking against Damen's fingers now, his hands tight in Damen's hair and breath coming out in burning gusts against his cheek. It was something of a battle to pull free of Laurent's hold, his fingers iron where the rest of his body was soft clay, but Damen fought to separate himself just long enough to pour perhaps too much oil into his impatient palm and coat his erection. He entered Laurent again in one fluid motion that drew groans from them both. Usually when they lay together, Damen entered Laurent slowly, after careful preparation, and gave him time to adjust to the intrusion before daring to move an inch — tonight, Damen had barely sheathed himself fully when he was pulling back again and setting out a rhythm that most would be unable to keep up with.

Laurent matched his pace easily. His nails sank in to Damen's shoulders for purchase as he pushed himself up with Damen's hips to meet his every thrust. Damen felt them break the skin. The brief flash of discomfort was the perfect edge to the sweetness of Laurent's lax body around him.

They kissed again, a bruising touch, Laurent's teeth closing on Damen's bottom lip in a way that had him moaning like an overenthusiastic pet, his hips slamming forward into Laurent out of sheer impulse. It wasn't enough, not like this. He wasn't sure anything would be.

Without warning Damen pulled back and flipped Laurent onto his stomach. He was back inside before Laurent could do more than whine, pushing in as deep as he could, his hand clutching at Laurent's hip as if he might lose himself if he didn't hold on.

With each thrust Laurent let out a guttural moan unlike any sound Damen had heard from him before. He reached back, his fingers tugging tightly in Damen's hair while Damen buried his face in the curve of Laurent's neck.

He was all body, reacting without thought or caution, like some deep-buried feral part of him had been brought forth. Laurent was the same against him. The well-practised control he maintained even in moments like this was so long absent it was as if it had never existed at all.

It wasn't long before Laurent's body seized beneath him. He clenched hard enough to make Damen cry out, Laurent's own sounds of pleasure muffled by the pillows he buried his face among, as he rode out his climax. Neither of them had yet laid a hand on Laurent's cock.

Perhaps it was focusing on Laurent's orgasm that made his own catch him by surprise when it hit moments later; a shattering of tension Damen hadn't realised was building to breaking point within him. He lurched forwards over the snowy curve of Laurent's back, and came with a grunt, pushing himself deeper into Laurent's body as he emptied into him.

Damen didn't feel much more like himself afterwards. He managed to settle on his knees, to allow Laurent to roll onto his back between Damen's legs, but his body still thrummed as it had before he had ever slipped inside Laurent. Damen looked down to see his cock was still engorged, and as the blissful numbness in the wake of his climax began to dissipate, the ache within him became more apparent.

A look down at Laurent was all he needed to know that he felt the same. With a grin and a firm shove to the chest, he was pushing Damen back onto the mattress and sinking down onto his cock once again.

"Laurent?" Damen said, some hours later, once they were both finally spent, bruises and welts and the stains of release marring their skin in the moonlight, and had dropped onto the mattress together consumed by an overwhelming need for sleep.

Laurent gave a languid hum in response.

"Don't drug me again."

He opened his eyes then, and gazed up at Damen with the same sly smile he had worn earlier. Damen was too tired to be concerned by it this time. "Never?" said Laurent. "I think this evening was quite a success, don't you?"

Damen eyed the ampoule that had slipped from Laurent's shirt onto the bed between them at some point over the course of the evening. A smile tugged at his lips as he considered the question.

"Ask me first, next time."


	27. In Public [Damen/Laurent, Post-canon]

A soft caress of reverent hands and finely spun cloth, and Damen's chiton was being fastened into place with the golden lion pin that signified his house. That same design was carved in a noble parade around the gold band sliding up his arm, and on the ring on his finger. Their ornate craftsmanship made the simple gold cuff around his wrist that much more obvious — as if it wasn't already the first thing people's gaze fell to upon looking at him — though Damen would not remove it.

Yet more gold and jewels emerged from the boxes in front of him, and Damen rolled his eyes, even as he bent to allow his servant to place the circlet upon his head. He was just straightening when the sound of footsteps in the main room grew closer.

"It's fortunate we'll be sitting for much of the evening," said Damen, with eyes to Laurent's direction as he entered the bedroom. "At this rate, I'll be too weighted down to stand."

Laurent looked up from the box he carried — more jewels, Damen thought with an internal groan — and offered Damen a fond smile. "You've never had to dress up for events like this before?"

"Not to this degree." He lifted his adorned arms, glinting in the lamplight. There would be no chance of anyone losing sight of him this evening. Unless the lights bouncing off his plethora of jewels blinded them. "I look like a Veretian pet."

"You look like a king."

The words, and the admiration carried within them, brought a warm rush of affection to Damen's chest. He eyed Laurent again, to see him peering at the box in his hands more intently. It was small, its wooden sides bare of any ornamentation that would mark it as a Veretian or Akielon crafting, but clearly well made all the same.

"What is that?" said Damen.

"A gift," Laurent said, "from Vask."

The Vaskian envoy had arrived only that morning, the rest of their day marked with a celebratory hunt. The feast tonight was to be their official welcome, the cementing of their tentative alliance. "I thought the exchange of gifts was to take place during the feast," said Damen.

Laurent's hand slid across the lid of the box almost like a mother would caress her newborn. "This is a more personal offering. From Halvik," he replied, and with a subtle jerk of his head had their servants scurrying out of the room.

Damen watched all of this with a rapidly swelling curiosity. "Dare I ask?" he said, though Laurent looked as interested in the box's contents as Damen was; if he had any idea what Halvik might have gifted them independently of the Vaskian empress, it could only be an educated guess.

Laurent stepped forward and placed the box atop the others, sat empty now their contents were gilding Damen's body. A flick of the heavy iron clasp, and the box was open.

Damen peered inside and frowned. In amongst the cushioned sides of the box was a piece of clear glass, unremarkable in appearance save for its odd shape: narrow at the tip and growing wider towards the base, where it met what Damen could only assume was a hilt of some sort.

His eyes flicked up to take in Laurent's face, and the mixture of surprise and amusement on it. "What is it?"

Laurent's smile widened. "Shall I show you?"

Damen should have said no. He should have known not to trust that dangerous look in Laurent's eyes. The people who fell so easily for Laurent's charms in the court, Damen could understand; they didn't know him well enough to be wary. Damen had no excuse but his own stupidity.

He nodded.

Damen came to regret that decision immediately, his curiosity replaced by concern when Laurent took the item from the box and stepped towards their bed. Beside it was a ready supply of oils, and Laurent dipped the glass into a waiting bowl with the same casual air that he would slick his fingers or his cock when they lay together, keeping his anticipation buried well beneath the surface.

Somehow, despite his growing unease, the realisation of exactly what Laurent planned to do with that strange sculpture didn't come to Damen until Laurent was stood in front of him again and silencing any objection Damen might have made with his lips pressed to Damen's. Laurent's hands slid under Damen's chiton and the wet, cold tip of the glass pushed into him.

Damen recoiled with a gasp. His eyes widened then squeezed shut, while his body tightened against the intrusion. Whatever he had been expecting, it was not this. He clutched at Laurent's arm to steady himself.

"Shhh." Laurent's voice was a purr, sinfully sweet to ease Damen's tension. His lips brushed Damen's cheekbone, soft as a whisper, as he pressed again at the object between Damen's legs. Once Damen's body had opened to it and it was filling him like a cock, albeit a strangely shaped one, Laurent dropped his hand. The sculpture stayed embedded in him.

At least it was warmer now, Damen supposed.

Footsteps, again, and Damen's head swung back to the doorway, where a servant was stood, head bowed. "The Vaskians are making their way to the feasting hall," she said, once Laurent had prompted her to speak.

"What perfect timing," said Laurent, with wicked delight.

"Laurent..."

He silenced Damen with another kiss. If Damen's bruising grip on his arm was causing him any real discomfort, there was no sign of it on his face when he pulled back. If anything, Laurent probably enjoyed it. "We mustn't keep the Empress waiting now," said Laurent, steering Damen from the bedroom before he'd even had chance to fully adjust to the pressure inside him. "And I'm sure Halvik will be keen to know if her gift has been well received."

Walking down to the hall had been a challenge. Sitting was worse. Damen sucked in a harsh breath as he sank, gingerly, into his seat at the head table and Halvik's gift pushed urgently at his inner walls. He'd taken a cock before, had felt the burning press of Laurent inside him more times than he had ever dreamed he would, but not once in all those times had he been expected to do much more than lie back and enjoy it. This was decidedly unique from taking a cock.

Yet, perhaps most disconcertingly, Damen was beginning to take some of the same pleasure in it. The unforgiving glass was pressing against him where he had always loved to feel the drag of Laurent's cock, and every tiny shift of his body sent renewed sensation racing through him. Were they in the privacy of their chambers, Damen could have quite enjoyed this.

But they were most definitely not, as Damen was all too aware. All around him were people wishing to engage the king of Akielos in conversation. Damen offered polite smiles and his best attempts at engaging discourse, trying in vain to listen to the endless congratulations: on his success in the day's hunt, on the alliance with Vask, on melting the frigid king of Vere. He caught Halvik eyeing him with a knowing smile on her lips, and forced his gaze back down to his loaded plate, no stomach for a mouthful of it.

"You're sweating." As the words unfurled quietly in his ear, Laurent's hand slipped under the table to brush Damen's thigh. It traversed his tensed muscles and darted under his chiton, a ghost of a touch against Damen's erection.

"You're a monster." He swallowed and steeled himself to look over at Laurent watching him, his blue eyes glittering with intensity.

He looked thrilled to hear it. He pressed his thumb to a sensitive area just beneath the head of Damen's cock, the touch too firm in comparison to the last. Damen's breath caught and he jerked in his seat, immediately regretting it at the intense shift inside him. He had to bite his lip to restrain the moan fighting to escape him.

Laurent smiled and leant closer. To anyone watching it probably seemed they were whispering sweet nothings in each other's ear.

"You really must learn to school your features," Laurent said. "Wearing your every emotion so plainly will only get you into trouble."

He pulled back just enough to meet Damen's eyes, his own flicking away to survey the rest of the feast continuing around them and back again. A wicked grin possessed his lips, and he was leaning closer again. Damen could do nothing but hold his breath.

"Or perhaps that's what you want. I'm sure most of the people in this room are just dying to watch."

The words were intended to taunt, to make Damen's torment that much harder to endure, though it was the sultry, honeyed tone with which they'd curled into the infinitesimal space from Laurent's lips to Damen's ear that set Damen's blood aflame. He reached for his goblet and took a long gulp of soothing wine, letting its coolness wash over the heat inside him. The song being performed at the far side of the room came to an end, and Damen offered a perfunctory rush of applause, even as Laurent's hand refused to leave his cock, before his eyes returned to Laurent.

"You never did tell me how a man of your good breeding found himself in possession of such a filthy mouth."

Laurent said nothing. A tiny flicker of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips when Damen shifted without thought and winced at the throb of arousal he earned himself for it.

"I doubt you would fare much better in my position," said Damen, perhaps a little too petulantly.

It was a challenge, as it turned out, though Damen hadn't intended it to be.

Laurent took Damen's hand in his own and steered it under the table to press against his own crotch. Inside the confines of his trousers, Laurent was almost as hard as Damen. His face remained impassive as Damen rubbed him, and fuelled by some sudden, intense desire to prove him wrong, Damen tugged open the laces of Laurent's trousers and pulled his cock out into the open as his own was.

Eyes flicking back to their guests in a half-hearted attempt to at least keep up the pretence of engaging with the festivities, they stroked each other, as if their activities under the table were taking place a world away from the civilities above it. Even as his hand moved with more intensity, his hips nudging into Laurent's hand and jolting the glass inside him, Damen was keenly aware that no matter the outcome, this was a game Damen was going to lose: either he was going to fail Laurent's challenge, or he would succeed in pushing Laurent into a reaction and expose what they were doing.

He hadn't decided yet which way he'd prefer to lose. In that moment all he could think of was how dearly he needed a release, his body pulled taut and ready to snap, and how dearly he wanted to give Laurent the same.

At the onslaught of Damen's thumb against Laurent's sensitive cockhead, Laurent's eyes flickered closed for a moment, the subtle shift of the light on his marble skin signalling the clench of his jaw. It took enough of Damen's will to force his breathing to remain steady that he almost missed the barely-there sound of Laurent sucking in a breath through his teeth. Almost.

It was his turn to lean in close, triumphant, now. "What was it you were saying?"

"Don't get cocky," replied Laurent. There was a definite strain in his voice. "You're still losing."

He pressed his hand, firm and unrelenting, to Damen's belly, just above his cock. It was too much, pressure from outside and within meeting and forcing him to breaking point. The wall he'd been holding up inside himself crumbled. His tension poured from him in seizing waves, and he had to bite the inside of his lip hard to keep himself silent. When he had come back to himself a little, he tasted blood.

The disappearance of Laurent's touch left a chill, quickly followed by a cold dread as the rest of Damen's sense returned to him. The feast. There were two dozen Vaskians around him, including the Empress herself, as well as members of his and Laurent's own courts; not one of them would appreciate the kings of Akielos and Vere insulting their new alliance like this. Well, except for Halvik, perhaps.

But, thankfully, as Damen's panicked eyes swept the room, the only person paying him any particular attention was Laurent. His eyes burned into Damen's.

"Yes," he breathed, desperate, when Damen's hand moved on him again, his own hand pressed over Damen's as if he was afraid Damen might pull away and leave him with no relief. It would the least he deserved, though Damen's grip never loosened, quickly working Laurent to completion. The only sign he'd reached his end was a light flush on his cheeks that could as easily be the effect of the warmth in the room or the wine that few beside Damen knew Laurent had not touched, and an almost imperceptible roughness to his usually controlled breathing. He released his hold on Damen's hand and discreetly tucked himself away, as the glass inside Damen felt increasingly heavy and uncomfortable.

But nobody had noticed Laurent's game, and Damen's heart raced with the wild thrill of such a risk paying off. Their only challenge now would be to extricate themselves from the table at the end of the meal without the evidence of their activities making itself obvious.


	28. Boring Sex [Ancel/Berenger, Modern AU]

It started, as it always did, with a coin toss.

"Shall we flip for it?" Ancel had said. He'd been reaching into his pocket for a coin the moment he had slipped his overcoat on.

"I think I'll do the honours tonight, if you don't mind."

Ancel's eyebrows had arched in response. "Why, Berenger, don't you trust me? Do you think I would rig the coin toss?"

"I know you do. Eight heads in a row is not a fluke." He had held his hand out for the coin, palm square and deep-lined, soft enough to make Ancel crumble when it graced over his skin, and reluctantly Ancel had dropped it into his palm. He'd probably caught on to Ancel's scheme weeks ago.

Berenger flipped the coin. Ancel watched it curl up into the air and spin, and spin, and spin. With faster reflexes than Ancel would have given him credit for, Berenger snatched the coin out of the air and placed it on the back of his hand, revealing it without fanfare.

"Would you look at that?" said Berenger. "Tails."

Ancel huffed. There really hadn't been much point in him getting dressed up, then. "Fine," he said, as if he was being terrifically magnanimous by doing so. Which, really, he was. "Let me guess: we're going to stay in and have a normal, bland dinner, then sit in silence watching a film with subtitles?"

"Actually, I was thinking I'd take you to _Corentin's_."

Now that was unexpected. Ancel was amazed Berenger had even heard of the place. Not that it mattered much. One of Ancel's previous lovers had tried to get them a table once, only to be told there was a six month waiting list, even for a man of his standing. There was no money in the world that could buy you a table.

"We can't just walk in to _Corentin's_ without a reservation," said Ancel.

They could, as it turned out.

As soon as they'd stepped through the doors the maître d' beamed and ushered them closer. "Berenger," he said, and Ancel felt his eyebrows race up towards his hairline. Berenger shouldn't have cared that this place existed, a haunt of the wealthy elite that he typically shunned, let alone been on first-name terms with its staff. "It's been far too long."

"Gaspard, how are you?"

Ancel took the opportunity to glance around while Berenger stood chatting, only half paying attention to their conversation. He had seen pictures, of course, spent perhaps too much time flicking through magazines and imagining himself sat among Arles' finest in its intimate main dining room, though it gleamed so much brighter in person. Candles flickered in crystal votives on each table, making it almost seem as if the room itself was alive, and soft, serene music poured from all corners just loudly enough to add to the ambience without overpowering it. Ancel scoured the room for famous faces, and soon lost count of how many he'd spotted.

"Berenger!"

He turned at the exclamation to see a man of about Berenger's age wearing a chef's uniform come striding towards them to envelop Berenger in a painful-looking hug. Berenger weathered it well. Clearly he was used to it.

The strangeness of this night showed no signs of letting up.

"Ancel," said Berenger, turning back towards him, "this is Corentin."

The words took a moment to sink in. Blindly Ancel shook the hand offered to him, until he managed to find his voice again. "You're Corentin," he echoed, and fought the urge to wince at his own inelegance, so obviously signalling himself as out of place.

He should have said something witty, something charming, the kind of comment that would make them all laugh and clap Berenger on the back and loudly wonder how he had landed such a catch. He was usually good at this. It was the only reason he was here, his ability to rub elbows with everyone from celebrities to royalty with more than enough ease to compensate for Berenger's lack of interest.

This was Berenger's fault.

"The one and only," replied Corentin, as if that expression were not entirely fitting in his case. He turned back to Berenger. "I take it you're going to attempt to pay us again this time?"

"Always."

"Gaspard, don't accept any money from this man."

"Of course not, sir."

He gave Berenger one last friendly pat on the back and let the maître d' lead them through the restaurant, past tables of other nobles who nodded to Berenger and people dressed like executives, too wrapped up in their own worlds to notice them, and out onto a private terrace. Trellises adorned with climbing flowers behind their chairs filled the air with delicate scents, expertly chosen to complement one another the same way the landscaped gardens at Berenger's country estate had been designed, and a smattering of tiny candles all around provided the perfect amount of lighting.

This was about as far from a simple, quiet dinner at home as you could get.

"You seem a little bewildered," said Berenger once they had taken a seat. He wore a mild expression, though there was an audible trace of amusement in his tone.

Ancel narrowed his eyes in response. "What gave me away?" he replied, as drily as he could manage, though it only served to bring a smile to Berenger's face.

"Corentin used to be my personal chef," explained Berenger. "I loaned him the money to open this place, and helped secure investors to keep it running." He said it like it was nothing.

"And now it's the best restaurant in the city."

Knowing Berenger, he would have been just as satisfied had it served only a handful of people every night. He'd probably still be paying to keep the lights on were that the case.

"He was always far too talented to cook for only one person."

The waiter arrived quickly to take their order, and after he had swept away out of sight again, Ancel peered over the side of the terrace. The lights of the city glimmered like stars around them.

"You've never been here before?" Berenger said.

Like he even had to ask.

"Of course not. You're the richest sugar daddy I've ever had."

"Ancel." Berenger's gaze flicked wildly about the place. They might have had this small terrace to themselves, but through the wall of flowers behind Berenger's seat Ancel could see the flickering lights of candles on another private table.

But really, it wasn't hard to guess. People knew who Berenger was, and they knew he was rich and unmarried. One look at Ancel in a suit worth more than his first apartment, and it would be clear who was paying to keep Ancel in such luxury. Berenger might have hated the term, and it might not have ever been their official arrangement, but in some way it was accurate.

"I'm sorry — you're the richest rich-boyfriend-who-likes-to-shower-me-with-expensive-gifts I've ever had."

Their meals arrived then, finer than anything Ancel had tasted except for the times he had accompanied Berenger to functions at the palace. He was sure he ended up eating more of Berenger's food than Berenger did himself, as well as polishing off his own plate, and both of their desserts. The arduous hours he'd need to spend in the gym working it all off again were more than worth it, in his book. And of course, once Ancel had finally eaten all that he could stomach, Berenger insisted on paying full price. No doubt he left a tip large enough for their waiter to pay off his student loans to boot.

At Berenger's insistence (it was his date night, after all, he'd had to remind Ancel) they went for a stroll along the canal after leaving the restaurant. Ancel had never been one for walking about without purpose — or walking anywhere, when Berenger could afford to buy Ancel a different sports car for each day of the week — but he played along, feigning interest as Berenger spoke about the meetings he'd had that day. His attention never could hold for long once the word 'horses' came up.

He distracted himself by peering over at Berenger, watching the smile warm his features. As much as the subject of Berenger's work had Ancel rolling his eyes and counting down the minutes until it was over, the passion Berenger felt for it was quite becoming on him.

He glanced back at Ancel, his gaze fond. "Did you have a nice time tonight?"

"It's your date night," said Ancel. "You're the one who's supposed to be having a good time."

"Yes, but I'd hope that you're enjoying yourself as well."

Ancel slowed to a stop, his hand in Berenger's tugging him back so they stood face to face, the people walking the same paths along the canal and the noise of the bustling city night scene all dropping away around them. "Of course I am."

If he was honest with himself, which he didn't always like to be, he was even enjoying this part, the talk of horse breeding programmes notwithstanding. The cool evening air bounced off the water, as did the lights twinkling down from the towers on the other side of the canal, and all around them were other couples partaking in a languid, romantic stroll. Ancel would still rather spend the night in the city's most exclusive clubs, but for an alternative, this wasn't all bad. Maybe Berenger had a point about simple pleasures in life. Ancel wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that, though.

At the next bridge they came to they crossed, and meandered back to the restaurant where Berenger's driver was waiting to take them home. "So what now?" said Ancel, once they had stepped back into the foyer of Berenger's city townhouse and Berenger had taken Ancel's coat. "You aren't going to make me watch a documentary, are you?"

Berenger kissed him; a light kiss, but one full of intent. "That wasn't quite what I had in mind," he replied, and Ancel smiled against his lips.

"Then lead the way."

He took Ancel by the hand and they made their way upstairs. Berenger wasn't brave enough yet to have sex anywhere but the bedroom, though Ancel was determined to crack him eventually. Tonight wouldn't be the night, though. Berenger led them up into the master suite and closed the door behind them.

"Are you going to let me take charge here tonight as well?" said Berenger. His fingers slipped to the buttons of Ancel's shirt.

Coming from anyone else, those words could have thrilled Ancel to his core. From Berenger, though… But if the rest of tonight was any indication, he was a man full of surprises.

"All right," said Ancel, injecting more exasperation into his tone than he truly felt. Hell, if Berenger took a detour in peeling Ancel out of his shirt to place a hand on his bare skin he'd no doubt feel Ancel's heart rate already beginning to speed up in anticipation. "I'll try not to fall asleep."

Berenger undressed him slowly, as if he was savouring every newly revealed inch of skin, as Ancel made a show of yawning. "I'll make you do it yourself next time," Berenger said, smiling, the third time it happened.

"I am better at it than you are. I mean really," he said, as Berenger pulled Ancel's trousers from around his ankles (he knew Ancel too well now to comment on the revelation that he had decided to forego underwear) and straightened again, and Ancel moved to imitate Berenger's listless process, "how is this exciting?"

"I'm here with you."

Ancel rolled his eyes, and focused his attention on Berenger's chest slowly emerging beneath his fingertips, if only to avoid Berenger's earnest expression as he stared back at him. He never could look directly at it.

He should have taken a step back, stopped his fingers' mapping of Berenger's warm skin and done things his own way. But he didn't.

"How do you want me?" said Ancel while he sank to his knees to pull down Berenger's boxer shorts. As if he couldn't already guess. Still, he stayed on his knees for a moment, just in case Berenger might feel some stroke of madness and ask him to stay down there. His lips were so close to Berenger's cock.

All he had to do was say the word.

"On your back."

Ancel smiled. "My dear Berenger, you are unbearably predictable."

"One of us should be."

Dutifully, Ancel climbed onto the bed and pulled Berenger down with him, spreading his legs for Berenger to settle between them as they kissed again, and again.

He should have been savouring this the same way Berenger was. Half the time he had to fight for Berenger's attention, prise him away from his work by bribery or force, fully aware that the moment Ancel rolled over and fell asleep Berenger would head straight back into his office. Having him here like this, dragging his palms and his lips over Ancel's skin as if he was exploring it for the first time again, didn't happen nearly as often as Ancel would have liked. But Ancel would much rather savour the feel of Berenger inside him.

It wouldn't be happening any time soon, he suspected.

Ancel dropped his head back onto the mattress and waited, doing his best to suppress the gasps that wanted to escape under Berenger's attentions. Couldn't give him the impression Ancel was enjoying the gentle treatment, or he'd keep going even longer.

"Are you sure you haven't missed a spot?" he said, when finally Berenger pulled back to retrieve some lube and a condom.

"Would you like me to start again, just in case?"

"Don't even think about it."

Berenger grinned, and draped himself over Ancel's body to kiss him yet again as his wet fingers pressed into Ancel.

"I'm ready," said Ancel, after few minutes of dedicated attention, his body aching to feel more. "You don't have to drag it out."

"I know." He didn't withdraw his fingers. Instead he brought them together and pulled them down, slowly, rubbing back and forth inside Ancel until he was moaning from the stimulation and rocking against Berenger's hand. And even then he didn't stop.

"Berenger, you're going to make me come."

Ancel choked the words out, his hands clutching at Berenger's wrist between his legs — to pull it back, maybe, or to keep it in place; he couldn't tell which urge was overpowering the other — and his hips moving like it was Berenger's cock he was riding.

If only. It would serve Berenger right if Ancel did come before Berenger even bothered to get started, he supposed.

"You're close?"

" _Yes_."

"Good."

And like that, his fingers were gone. He rolled on a condom and guided himself inside, as slowly as he'd done everything else this evening, and Ancel let out a long, satisfied exhale as he felt Berenger fill him. He opened his eyes after a moment to enjoy the feeling, and looked up at Berenger gazing down at him. He still hadn't made any attempt to start thrusting.

"Are you going to move at all," said Ancel, folding his arms under his head and shooting Berenger his most unimpressed look, "or are we just going to lie here?"

He rolled his eyes. Ancel was accustomed enough to it now to know it was a fond gesture, and sure enough when Berenger looked back down at Ancel again he was fighting a smile. "Are you capable of keeping your thoughts to yourself for five minutes?"

"Is that how long you expect to last, after all this?"

Berenger kissed him then, harder than the sweet, teasing kisses he usually liked to start with when he didn't feel compelled to shut Ancel up. But his tongue was in Ancel's mouth, and his hips were finally starting to shift, so Ancel wasn't about to protest. He wrapped his arms around Berenger's shoulders and let himself melt into the kiss.

He didn't get the chance to.

Ancel tried to pull Berenger back down, entirely aware of how needy his noise of protest sounded. He would have hated himself for that once, for so brazenly expressing his own urges, but whenever Berenger had caught him trying to hold himself back he would kiss Ancel again, fingers brushing his cheeks while he whispered soft reassurances and words of encouragement, until his instincts to please, to put on a show had all but disappeared. But Berenger didn't give in to Ancel this time. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and gazed down at Ancel as he slid his hips in slow, taunting waves, his eyes boring deep into Ancel's.

Too deep. It was as if he could read Ancel's thoughts and emotions right there in his eyes, and Ancel had never felt so naked in his life. He closed his eyes.

He wished he hadn't almost immediately. Without the sight of Berenger above him to focus on, every surge and ebb of his cock inside Ancel was amplified, as if all his senses were trained on that one point where their bodies were tangled. If he would just move a little faster… Ancel never had a problem like this when he took charge, enjoying the energetic pace of their movements without being tortured by each thrust, and able to make it last.

"Don't close your eyes," said Berenger, his voice like velvet against Ancel's skin, as Ancel struggled to maintain his air of composure. "Stay with me."

"Are you worried I might slip into a coma? It's a real risk, you know." But even while he spoke, Ancel opened his eyes again, and, bracing himself, met Berenger's gaze. How he could know Ancel's history and still manage to look down at him with such unabashed affection in his eyes was beyond Ancel. It was more than he deserved, more than he could bear. He bit back a moan.

Berenger smiled, as soft and as slow as the press of his hips. "I'm sure you'll be fine."

"Maybe you should let me get on top, just to be on the safe side."

"Not tonight."

His hand slid from Ancel's hair splayed out in a carefully arranged burst of colour against the beige sheets to his cheek, where he rubbed his thumb along Ancel's cheekbone as if he was inviting Ancel to nuzzle into the touch. It travelled warm and familiar down his chest, over his ribs, until he reached Ancel's narrow hips rocking ineffectively against his own. A firm grasp forced Ancel to still. But Berenger still refused to do more than push into Ancel with those same maddening thrusts that had Ancel's insides burning.

"Would you _please_ move a little faster?" Ancel said, when it grew too much for him to take.

"I don't think you really want me to." As if to prove it, he moved back just a little; slow, shallow thrusts that slid the head of his cock against Ancel's already over-stimulated prostate and, helpless, Ancel let out an embarrassingly desperate keen in response.

"Damn it," said Ancel, as he clutched fistfuls of the pillow beneath his head to try and ground himself. "Keep doing that."

"Do you still wish you were on top?"

Ancel was too far gone to even feign displeasure. "No." He could barely even get the word out. It felt like there was no air left in his lungs.

Berenger kissed him again in response, still teasing Ancel with the head of his cock, while Ancel clenched around him in some frantic attempt to pull him deeper. All he succeeded in doing was drawing a moan from deep in Berenger's chest. But even that sent another fierce throb of arousal through Ancel's body, pushing him closer and closer to the point of no return.

"Ancel," Berenger breathed against his lips. His voice cracked with his own spiralling desire, his lips bitten red from trying to hold on to his own composure when Ancel looked back up at him. At least Ancel wasn't the only one coming undone so soon. "Can you come like this?"

"I need your hand."

Ancel moaned, as loud and abandoned as he did when he was faking it, when Berenger started to stroke him, and with a grin and a satisfied noise of his own at the sound, Berenger resumed their kiss. Like everything else about his movements, it was slow and skilled.

It was an odd sensation, not to ramp up the intensity — whether consciously or out of desperation — as they both approached orgasm; instead there was a kind of blissful inevitability to it, a steady build until they didn't so much fall over the edge as hover there for an incredible stretch. Ancel couldn't be sure of the exact moment the mounting tension within him had broken. But he was gasping now against Berenger's open mouth as Berenger clutched at him tighter, still working Ancel's cock, and he was in no hurry to float back down from his high. He'd stay there with Berenger forever if he could.

They folded into one another when it was over, panting as if they had enjoyed one of the hard, fast fucks that Ancel had always preferred, dragging their hands over one another to steady themselves. It took longer than Ancel was proud of for the feeling to return to his extremities.

"If the next words out of your mouth are ' _I told you so_ …'" warned Ancel, though he was still too exhausted to inject any real menace into the words. He dropped his cheek onto Berenger's warm chest and pulled Berenger's arms around himself, before he had any stupid ideas about getting out of bed to clean them both up.

"Do you even need me to say it?"

"Shut up," said Ancel, but even as he closed his eyes and sleep began to beckon him, he could feel the smile tugging at his cheeks.

Maybe he would let Berenger win the next coin toss as well.


	29. With Food [Damen/Laurent, Post-canon]

Damen was smiling before he was even fully awake. The upheaval within Akielos in the wake of Damen's return had kept him from Laurent for too long, and no letters or gifts sent back and forth between them over these last, excruciating months could hope to compare to holding Laurent in his arms once again. To be with him again now, to wake up separated by mere inches rather than hundreds of miles, was a gift he had not truly appreciated until their parting.

He reached out and felt soft hair beneath his fingertips, softer even than he had remembered. Laurent lay still beside him, but Damen knew better than to believe he was really asleep. Damen had always considered himself early to rise, awake with the dawn even before his military training had drilled the routine into him for good, yet still most mornings he would wake to find Laurent already out of bed with a mind to the day's tasks, as if his need for sleep was a vulnerability he wished for none to discover.

"I've missed you," Damen said softly into the undisturbed air between their prone bodies.

"Yes," replied Laurent, as finally he turned to glance back at Damen, "you have been quite adept at proving as much already."

"Did you sleep at all?"

He nodded, and with a smile that Damen wished to preserve on his face forever, Laurent rolled to nestle himself against Damen's side, and pressed a tender kiss to Damen's chest. "I fear I will still be of no use to anyone today," he said, and when Damen peered back down at him Laurent's eyes had slipped closed again, as if only his iron will was keeping him conscious. "Your reputation is well deserved."

Damen grinned. "I told you I'd missed you."

"You did. We must take care to be separated for no longer stretches than this one, or I may never be fit to walk again."

"Perhaps we should not separate ourselves at all," said Damen. It was a foolish dream, for the time being at least, but still Damen would cling to it until the day it came to fruition, until their palace on the border was complete and they could begin the task of uniting their nations as fully as they had bound themselves to one another. It would be a monumental undertaking, though the prospect of embarking upon it with Laurent at his side made it all the more enticing.

Laurent gave a soft hum of approval in response, and he pulled Damen on top of him, the bedcovers tangling about their ankles as they moved together, a shadow of the intimacies they had shared last night.

The quiet bliss of the room was enough to make Damen forget that there was a bustling palace beyond the sanctity of Laurent's chambers, but he was soon reminded when the main doors swung open and a servant peered hesitantly around the bedroom door.

"Your majesty," she said, as Damen quickly pulled back from Laurent's embrace, "you requested food brought up to your rooms?"

"Yes," replied Laurent, "bring it in here."

" _Laurent_."

As a gaggle of servants swept into the bedroom with mercenary efficiency, Damen shuffled to pull the covers back over himself. It was not the notion of being exposed to a room of strangers that concerned him, so much as it was the implication of what they'd been up to, writ so devastatingly plain with the two of them tangled naked in the sheets. The room still reeked of it.

Laurent laughed. "Are you forgetting where you are?"

As if to demonstrate that point he pushed himself out of the bed, the marks from Damen's clutching fingers an obvious blemish on his pale skin, and rounded the mattress to where his staff where still unloading silver platters of food. He helped himself to a bowl piled high with shining crimson strawberries and returned to the bed, facing Damen, as finally the room emptied again and Damen let himself resume his breathing.

"They're still in season towards the border," said Laurent, plucking a strawberry from the bowl and taking a bite. His lips glistened from the juice of it. "I remember you having a fondness for them while we were in Akielos."

"You arranged to have them delivered in honour of my arrival?"

The small smile on Laurent's lips was answer enough to that question. Damen stretched up and pressed a kiss to them in response. "It's true what they say," said Damen, "you are a heartless bitch."

"Shut up." Perhaps fearing — with good reason — that his biteless rejoinder would have no effect on Damen, Laurent snatched up another fat strawberry and forced it between Damen's parted lips. They really were delicious, perfectly ripe and with a more delicate sweetness than the varieties grown in Ios, though Damen was too busy laughing around his mouthful to pay much attention to the taste.

Laurent pulled away to return to the assortment of foods while Damen swallowed his mouthful and dropped back down. He watched through lidded eyes as Laurent uncorked a pot of honey and dipped two fingers inside. It glistened on his skin when he withdrew them, thick and golden and dribbling back into the pot.

The sight of it reminded Damen of something else entirely.

He raised an eyebrow as he watched Laurent step back towards him. "Where are you planning to put those?"

Laurent pressed his fingers to Damen's lips, a light touch but an insistent one, and Damen opened his mouth to let them push inside. The honey was sweet and smooth. Damen sucked Laurent's fingers clean.

From the way Laurent's eyelids drifted shut, he was thinking of something else as well.

Damen watched him closely, his own movements more overt in their mimicry even once there was nothing more to lick from Laurent's skin. His tongue flicked into the gap between Laurent's two fingertips as if it was his slit, and Laurent let out a helpless noise above him. Blindly, Damen reached his free hand towards Laurent's crotch to find him already rousing once more.

That was reason enough to continue this game.

Damen pulled away from Laurent's fingers. "Lie back," he said, his palm splayed across Laurent's chest to steer him back onto the mattress, and Damen climbed up off of the bed. He took the pot of honey, positioned himself above Laurent staring up at him in anticipation, and poured the first few thick drops directly onto Laurent's skin. He followed it with his mouth.

Again and again he repeated the motions; onto each of his peaked nipples, his flat stomach, the sensitive spot just below his navel, as Laurent arched and hummed beneath Damen's tongue. He could feel Laurent's cock pressing hard against Damen's chest when he slid farther down Laurent's body. His own was rousing in turn. He had never been the type to say no to pleasure, yet in all the things he had done, he had never done this. There was an odd thrill to it. Laurent had explored so much of himself for the first time at Damen's hands, and now it was Damen's turn.

Damen sank fully onto his knees beside the bed, Laurent's spread legs draped over his shoulders, and Laurent pushed up onto his elbows to watch. The pot was almost empty now, but it would have just enough for this. Damen poured its contents over the head of Laurent's cock.

Laurent's breathing caught and his lips parted, and had his skin not been flushed a rich pink already he would have darkened before Damen's eyes. He always was a sight to behold like this. Damen hadn't realised during the months of separation just how much he had missed it.

He watched the honey seep down Laurent's shaft for a moment, before flicking his tongue out to catch the first drops inching towards the base. Slow as the honey's languid journey downwards, Damen dragged his tongue up to the head, and closed his mouth around Laurent. He sucked and licked at the fine skin there until every trace of honey was gone, and then kept going, using Laurent's gentle sighs to guide his ministrations.

Laurent was rocking his hips beneath him now, pushing up into Damen's mouth, his head dropped back to gaze blindly up at the ceiling. It was a world away from the shy, repressed Laurent Damen had once found in these moments. One hand came to slide into Damen's curls and grabbed tight, and Damen's body responded as intensely as if he was the one being sucked. He let Laurent steer his movements, pliant under his touch, moaning deep around Laurent's cock to let him know in no uncertain terms that he was happy to be used in such a way, that Laurent was not pushing him beyond his comfort zone. He would let Laurent do anything to him.

With a gasp Laurent crested and came, spilling himself onto Damen's tongue. Damen swallowed it down as he had swallowed down everything else. He waited until Laurent had loosened his grip on Damen's hair to pull away, and he climbed back up onto the bed beside Laurent, dragging his fingertips up Laurent's stomach with great care, as if he might shatter in this delicate state.

"Did you plan for this as well?" said Damen.

Eyes still closed, Laurent smiled. "No. But I can't say that I minded it." After a moment he forced his eyes open, and his gaze travelled from Damen's eyes down to where their bodies were pressed close together and finally to take in the sticky state of himself. "I need to bathe."

"Soon," Damen replied. He reached over Laurent's body for the bowl of strawberries, and brought one to Laurent's lips for him to take a bite. "Let's finish having breakfast first."


	30. Whatever Pleases You [Damen/Laurent, Post-canon]

They rode in single file through the craggy paths that snaked between the hills, scouts riding ahead of their wagons. They were unlikely to find any trouble, Damen knew, but he had insisted on caution nonetheless. The Regent might be dead, but there were still those who could stand to gain from some kind of harm coming to Vere's new king.

"How much farther?" Damen said, as Lazar rode back to the group.

"Once we reach flatter ground, the city will be in sight," he said. "An afternoon's good riding will see us there."

It couldn't come soon enough. As if the threat of the open road was not bad enough, there was a bitter chill to the air, colder than any Damen had felt, the thick cloak cocooned around him not enough to keep deep shivers from wracking his body. His every breath misted in the air like that of an overworked horse. There was an audible crunch beneath each hoof fall, as if the ground threatened to crumble away beneath them at any moment, and the sky roiled an ominous white Damen had never seen before.

"There's snow in the air," Laurent said beside him, as if he knew Damen's thoughts.

"I've never seen snow." He had never seen snow in any way that counted, that was. He'd seen the white caps of the high mountain ridges from afar on his numerous journeys back and forth across the Veretian countryside, but he had never watched the snow fall, never felt it beneath his feet or his palms. He'd never known the smell of it in the air.

Lazar said something to Laurent once he had rejoined their group. Damen only understood part of it.

"What are we in time for?" he said.

"You'll see," was all Laurent would say in response. He eyed Damen. "You've never seen snow?" He said it sceptically, though it was clear he was trying to steer the conversation in a different direction.

Damen may as well play along. He'd have better luck changing the tides than getting Laurent to disclose information he wished to keep from Damen. He would find out what Laurent was keeping from him soon enough, he feared.

"It is a little warmer in Akielos," he said, and Laurent smiled. A cutting wind had Damen shivering again and pulling his cloak tighter across his chest. His cheeks stung from the cold. In weather like this, he could understand why Veretians wore so many layers. "A great deal warmer," he corrected.

"You truly are Akielos' most fearsome warrior," said Laurent, shooting Damen a sly smile before he nudged his heels into his horse's flanks and charged ahead.

Damen scowled after him.

They wound their way across the countryside until the sky began to darken in twilight, though the snow Laurent had spoken of remained nothing more than a threat in the unforgiving sky. Damen almost wished it would descend upon them if it meant the air would warm a little afterwards, though he knew their journey would become close to treacherous if the scattered rocks that marred the landscape were hidden beneath a layer of snow. As it was, their progress was slow across the uneven terrain, the wagons creaking threateningly each time they rolled over an unseen outcrop in the worsening light.

That wasn't all that concerned Damen. He'd thought little of the lights flickering at the occasional, distant farmhouse they passed, but now they were approaching villages the sight of so many burning fires brought a knot to his stomach. Laurent's reign was still fragile, his alliance with Akielos ruffling a great many preened Veretian feathers. People had revolted against their kings for less. And the dozen soldiers Damen and Laurent had in their convoy would be no match for a full-scale uprising. And were it not a revolt, but an enemy attack on the capital city...

"Laurent," said Damen, his voice low so as not to unnecessarily alarm the others, though he imagined many would soon come to the same conclusions. He glanced over at Laurent, and frowned.

Laurent was gazing out at the fires with a smile.

"We have arrived in time," he said, as if he was only now allowing himself to believe it.

Damen peered to Lazar's position at the head of the group. He couldn't see his face, but the way he had straightened in his seat with an air of re-invigoration and pressed his horse to quicken its steps radiated excitement. The other Veretian soldiers were similarly enthused when Damen looked behind.

"What is this?"

Laurent said something in Veretian that Damen didn't recognise. They were the same words Lazar had spoken earlier that afternoon. "The festival of lights," Laurent explained. As they finally moved onto the cobbled road that would lead through the village and up into the city of Arles itself, the faint sound of music and celebrations carried on the wind towards them. Laurent looked back at Damen. "The final new moon of the year, when the night is longer and blacker than any other."

"You fill it with lights of your own," said Damen, understanding now what the fires had been.

"Wait until you see it from the palace."

Damen could imagine it well enough, already. The view from the king's chambers looked out upon the city and the countryside beyond it; from the look of the villages they were riding past, lanterns hanging in windows and above doorways, and on the branches of every tree, the entire landscape would be dotted with tiny lights.

Inside the city gates, Arles was bright as a summer's day. Even the chill of the evening air seemed to have been chased away by the bonfires and candles, the lanterns strung between the buildings that lined the streets. Damen had expected them to arrive to little fanfare, as Laurent preferred when not conducting his official kingly duties, but there were people enough still wandering through the streets, and an easy air of celebration to them, that their party was met with a cheery welcome as they made their way up to the palace. They paused only when a young girl offered the sputtering candle she held clutched in her hand up to Laurent, who graciously accepted it. He kept it shielded close to his torso until they dismounted at the palace stables.

"You care about this night a great deal," Damen said as he and Laurent made their way into the palace. Laurent was still cradling the candle protectively. He had an easy smile on his face.

"I do," said Laurent, but he didn't elaborate.

He led the way up through the palace, alive with music and the sounds of laughter and celebration, every room glowing with light. The only rooms that were dark were the king's quarters when Damen and Laurent entered. After the warmth of the rest of the palace, Laurent's room, with its barren fireplaces, felt almost as cold as the night outside had been.

Laurent moved into the bedroom and set his candle down on the window sill, its flickering light barely stretching to the corners of the room. He crouched by the vast fireplace to begin preparing a fire.

"I'll call for a servant," said Damen.

"There's no need." Laurent was still smiling as he spoke, as if he relished the opportunity to build the fire. He placed each log carefully, a rightful place to each piece of wood he set in the hearth. "When I was a child," Laurent began, apropos of nothing, "it was Auguste's job to light the fires in our quarters. I always used to beg him to let me do it."

Damen smiled. He understood now why the fires had been left unlit. "Did he?"

"Once. I dropped a candle and set a love letter he had been writing alight." Laurent looked back at Damen. There was a familiar spark of mischief in his eyes at the memory. "He never let me again after that."

"Did you do it on purpose?"

"Of course not," Laurent said. He lit the fire and stood back to admire his handiwork while the flames spread until the logs had been fully engulfed. Already it had begun to drive the chill from the air. He shot Damen a sidelong glance. "The girl was also being courted by one of Guion's sons without Auguste's knowledge."

Damen laughed. "Did he ever find out?"

"Eventually. He caught them kissing behind the stables."

"You're a good brother, Laurent."

Damen turned towards the bed and began to shed the layers of his outdoor clothing. It was comfortable enough now to be rid of them, thankfully. He stripped to nothing, letting the fire warm the cold that had sunk down to his bones, and watched Laurent do the same. Before Damen could pull him close, though, Laurent stepped back towards the window.

"Come here," he said, and as Damen moved to join him, Laurent threw open the windows. A bitter wind swept into the room, threatening to extinguish Laurent's tiny candle and making Damen wish he had kept his clothes on a little longer. Laurent didn't seem bothered in the slightest by the cold.

On his way across the room, Damen snatched up the thick furs draped over the bed and wrapped them around himself. He pulled Laurent into the warm embrace when he reached him. And as he looked up to follow Laurent's gaze, he realised why Laurent had opened the clouded windows.

As he had suspected, the landscape glittered with tiny fires, stretching out from the blinding glow of the city to the tiny pinpricks of light shining in the occasional farmhouse dotted about the countryside. With a blanket of thick cloud above, it almost seemed as if the stars had fallen to earth.

"It's beautiful," Damen said.

Laurent leant back into Damen's arms, his body warm on Damen's chest. Damen could feel the smile on Laurent's face against him. "Yes it is," said Laurent. He twisted in Damen's embrace to catch his lips in a tender kiss, and gazed back out into the night.

They stood in silence a while, watching the gentle undulation of thousands of dancing fires, and as they watched, the skies opened, soft flurries of white falling down from the heavens, curling in the air and drifting down to the ground.


End file.
